


Glass Flowers

by foux_dogue



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: A little bit of linguistics, Empire Building, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Female Protagonist, Forbidden Love, Political conflict, Reincarnation, Rite of Passage, Romance, Triforce, future timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-06-30 08:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 76,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19849168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foux_dogue/pseuds/foux_dogue
Summary: Four kings have ruled peacefully in Hyrule since the end of the Second Great Calamity and the daughter of the fifth, yet another young princess named Zelda, appears to be faced with quite a different fate than her predecessors before her.This fate is first tested when she finds herself lost in the middle of the Gerudo desert, sunburned and starving, before a mysterious man comes to her aid. She soon learns that he is a Gerudo, perhaps the last of his kind — and an exceptional tool for her father’s own aims to reinforce the bonds between the kingdoms spanning the Hylian empire.But what will happen to Zelda and her new ward — and her rather reckless personal guard with a famous name himself — when rumors of Ganondorf’s revival begin to spread across Hyrule once more?





	1. Monsters in the Wasteland

**PART I**

It was the worst way to die. Painful, of course, which was something that no one would wish for but, worse still, it was dreadfully _embarrassing_ as well. She’d drawn the maps of the desert lands herself, after all, so how could she possibly be lost? The woman stared into the dunes again. They looked like six golden camel humps all lined in a row — not to be confused with the amber molehills she’d stumbled past before, or the yellow sugar-lumps that had come before them.

There should have been an oasis there instead. She could picture the blue circle of it in her mind. She’d drawn it in a rare ink made of some crushed flower grown far away. Father hadn’t liked that — had said that it was wasteful. Now it would be even more precious filled not with petals but water. Her tongue swirled in her dry mouth at the idea.

“Damn,” she muttered into the relentless heat of the air, “damn it all. Please.” It wasn’t proper for her to swear, but who was going to hear her? The only signs of life she’d seen in days had been the sidewinding tracks of something with claws and, to be honest, she was relieved to have not yet met their maker.

It would have been better if she could have at least blamed her premature death on someone else. A dare, even, from some jealous foe who’d urged her venture out into the desert wilds. But that wasn’t it, of course — it was just her own damned curiosity that had drawn her there. _Fine_. She’d learnt her lesson, she promised with a meek glance up into the sky; if the goddesses showed her the mercy of a path out of this damned place she would never go off on her own like that again.

She stood squinting a moment longer. Better if she crouched and prayed, maybe, but she’d had the stupid idea of ripping the hem from her dress to shield her neck from the sun, and now the skin of her knees was so burned she couldn’t bear to imagine how it would feel to sink them into the hot sand. The sky stared back at her, unimpressed and blue, so blue it hurt her eyes.

“Damn it,” she breathed again. Perhaps if she hadn’t been so thirsty she would have cried. Better that she didn’t. That was more dignified, anyway, wasn’t it? To face her end head-on? She staggered forward, her feet sinking into he sand, and did her best to keep her back straight just like her minders had taught her. It took only twelve paces of that to send her tumbling down the side of the dunes. 

“Oww.” She sat up slowly, wincing as she fingered the raw skin at her elbows. Her lips trembled. Wasn’t it enough already to starve to death out there? Did she really have to fall apart as well? She strung another line of curses together as she struggled back to her feet. Perhaps fate had endured enough of her foul language, for as she did the sand of a spot directly before her began to lurch and spill away.

“Oh,” she breathed, dread filling her as she made out the breach of a huge, spade-shaped head. It would have been easy to mistake it for a whale if they had not been in such a dry-parched place. If only it had been. She recognized it from the same books she’d referenced to draw her maps — a _molduga_ , they called it, best known for its bitter temper.

_Sorry sorry sorry_ , she wanted to beg the creature as she took a tentative step backwards. Better that she didn’t speak her apology aloud — they hunted by sound, didn’t they? Or was that something else? For once she had no interest in testing her hypothesis. The hulking beast had uncovered itself enough to reveal a pair of shrunken shoulders. Its head swung slowly to the side, seeking out whatever it was that had roused it awake.

She stepped another pace and felt the press of the dunes against her back. _Oh_. That wasn’t good. Her elbows stung as she clamored up the side with a clumsy rowing of her arms. Each movement sent her sliding halfway downwards again. The molduga’s roving head slowed. She froze. Its ugly, beady eyes settled on her and blinked. Blinked again. _I’m just a mirage_ , she promised it silently, _just a little dream_. _Go back to sleep. Please_.

The beast wasn’t convinced. She clapped her hands over her face as it lurched forward, its maw already opened to show off the rows of crooked teeth inside. _Don’t look_ , she told herself — _don’t watch_. And maybe this was better, too, instead of dying from dehydration. At least now they wouldn’t find her body all withered up like some leather-made token of her own stubborn foolishness. Not that she would taste like anything other than bone and sunburned skin. Poor creature. He probably hadn’t had much else to eat for a long time. What a disappointment she would be. _Alright. Just get it over with, then_. 

A whooping voice filled her ears. Strange. She hadn’t expected the goddesses of the afterlife to sound like _that_. It rather sounded like a man.

_Oh no._

The image of the underworld’s slobbering pig-god flashed in her mind. He was a man, wasn’t he? So was that it? Had she really been that wicked? _No, I’m sorry. I prayed, didn’t I? And maybe I didn’t always mean it, but I did, most times. Please. You have to believe me._

She peeked between her fingers to seek out her fate. No ivory towers awaited her, but there was neither fire nor brimstone, either. Just sand — everywhere, including in the air where it had been kicked up in clouds from the molduga’s wild chase. From what? Or _after_ what, her mind corrected, flinching as the beast’s stubby tail thrashed above her head. She pushed herself off from the dune and stepped high on her toes to search out what the thing was hunting.

There. A horse? That didn’t seem right. But there it was, all four legs flashing as it careened across the sand. It carried a rider as well. They were dressed heavily, which seemed absurd, fully cloaked in something nearly the color of the sand itself. It made it difficult for her eyes to track them. No, not them, but _him_ , she wagered; it must have been a him.

The man and the creature both disappeared behind the wavering curtain of the horizon line. She sunk into a deep crouch. _Thank_ _goodness_. Her head swam as she struggled to collect herself. Well, maybe it had all been a dream. Still, it was difficult to steady her hammering heartbeat. She sucked in a deep breath and then another. It only made it worse. Fat black spots began to freckle her vision. _Oh_. She gripped her fingers tight, her nails digging into her palms, but it did little to spook the gloom away.

_Oh._

_I’m sorry._

_Father._

* * *

She was sailing. Or was it swinging? Flying? No matter. Anything was better than what she had been doing before. She let herself sag into the rocking of the world around her. One, two, one, two — it was a quick pace, but there was something reassuring in how predictable it was.

If only it hadn’t smelled like that. Not that it was entirely unpleasant. There was the hay-seeded odor of an animal and that peculiar hot scent of the sand, both of which weren’t unfamiliar, but there was something sour beneath it as well. It smelled like old fruit and turned cream. Sweat, that’s what it was. But was it hers? _Ah_. That was embarrassing. Not that anyone would notice.

Or.

Or would they? How was it that she was moving? An icy dread slithered down her spine as she began to gather her thoughts. She wasn’t sailing — that was absurd. She was in the desert, wasn’t she? And she couldn’t fly, no matter how hard she tried, so it wasn’t that, either. It was a horse. A horse. Yes. She could feel the coarse bristle of its hair against her arms. And there — that was the huff of its breathing, wasn’t it? 

But how had she gotten herself on a horse?

She ordered her eyes to open. It was dark. Night. She could see nothing but the pale expanse of the dunes spread before her. No. That wasn’t right. She narrowed her eyes and looked closer. It was a cloak. A back. Her chest froze as she realized the truth of where she was — slung like a bedroll over the haunches of the horse galloping beneath her. A bedroll or a captive of the man seated before her.

_Shit!_

She wrenched her arms sideways and was surprised to find that they were not yet bound. _Your_ _mistake_ , _you_ _bastard_ , she glowered at the set of shoulders looming over her head. She meant to pull the little dagger from her boot but made a dire miscalculation in how to move. A yelp slipped through her lips before she tumbled from the back of the horse. This time it hurt to fall.

“ _A-ah! Sa’oten! Vai! Pa’ek na dagaesh il ya_?”

He said something else. What was it that he was speaking? It didn’t matter. Now he’d truly do her in. She glared up at him as he dismounted. His eyes were all that she could make out beneath his mysterious robes. They looked like two coins tossed into the night.

_Go on. But don’t be cruel,_ she begged him as her own eyes rolled backwards into her skull _._

* * *

It was cold. She was still burning. How was that even possible? Maybe now she really had found her way into hell. A wave of self-pity washed over her as she struggled to chase herself awake. It felt as though her eyes had been sewn shut. She pushed against their press for a moment longer before giving up. _Fine_. What else, then? Her limbs were all filled with embers, that was clear enough. There was something broken in her head as well, as if she were nothing but a clay pot that had been shattered and pieced back together by a clumsy hand. And she was thirsty, of course, so thirsty that she’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to drink.

“Mnnmgh.” There it was. Her last word. _Shit_.

“ _Astayaesh, vai? Sav’saaba. Tch. Tanquilaesh, tanquilaesh_.” What the hell was that? A pair of hands brushed over her shoulders. She recoiled from them, but her attempt at throwing them off was reduced to a meager flinching. Something was pulled away from her face. She could feel a breeze against the skin there, now, cool at first but slowly building into a burn. Her eyes flashed open, heavy already with tears born from a mix of frustration and pain and fear.

“Ah!” That golden stare from her fever-dreaming was there to greet her. It was framed in the face of a man. He was neither young nor old but certainly _different_ , his skin darker even than hers in its most sun-burnished parts and adorned with the most outrageous pair of red eyebrows she’d ever seen. “What are you doing!?”

He gaped down at her, one of those fiery brows cocking high against his forehead as he nodded down at the little dish he’d proffered. She cried out — regrettably, more a squeak than anything — as she spotted the ring of water inside.

It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. 

“ _Ne_!” She yelped again as he snatched her hand when she moved to dry her lips after draining his offering. Too late. She’d already smeared something thick and green from her hand to her mouth — or maybe it was the opposite — and that seemed to annoy him. His lips screwed into a crooked shape as he turned to snatch another little earthenware pot from a nearby collection. More of that same stuff was inside. He scooped two of his fingers into it and leaned forward to worry over her.

“Stop it!” She smacked his hand away. “What is that? Don’t touch me!”

“ _Ey, tanquilaesh. Ya yadere tesh ayuq’ude_.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” she insisted between her teeth. He frowned and gestured at her own hand. It did look rather terrible in that place she’d wiped his bizarre poultice away — all red and blistered from the sun. Her stomach soured at the sight. _Alright, strange man_ , she offered him without speaking, _I get it_. _But you better not poison me_. He read her look well enough. She relented. He made quick work of rectifying the mess she’d made.

Perhaps as a reward, he offered her another bowl of water next. She was more careful with it this time. She watched him over the rim of it as she drank. He was still wearing that long sandy cloak of his, although he’d abandoned his hood. His hair, uncovered now, was short and rather messy. As he turned to hunt something out she spotted a particularly long strand just above his nape. It almost looked as though a blind man had cut if for him. Maybe it was a strange thing to fixate on but, then again, there wasn’t much else of him to look at. She caught herself before the sight of it made her giggle.

She glanced at her surroundings next. A cave, maybe; that seemed right. The ceiling was low and the walls thick, uneven, and full of shade. The floor was sand, naturally, but there was some level of refinement in the orderly little shelves that lined the room. More pots and dishes, mostly, along with a few curios that reminded her of her own study at home.

Where had he taken her? Was she still in the desert? That would mean that she was either in the Highlands or the Wastelands, if she were to find herself in a cave. She wasn’t certain if either were better, really. But at least it was better than being dead. Her eyes centered on the man again.

“Who are you?” He stepped forward towards her. His head was bowed low against the ceiling — he was too tall for the space. How miserable that must have been to live like that all of the time. “What’s your name?”

He shrugged his shoulders lightly. _Right_. He couldn’t understand her. But who didn’t speak Hylian? Even the Zora had become so accustomed to it that it was rare to hear their own bubbling mother tongue anymore. Maybe he was just a madman spitting gibberish at her after so many years exiled under the sun. Her theory would have been more believable if he didn’t sound so tidy when he spoke. She mulled the idea over further before she clapped her hand over her chest.

“Zelda. My name is Zelda,” she told him, punctuating the word with the tap of her hand. She pointed at him next. “You?”

Only after she spoke did she realize that she probably should have lied. Her heart flipped inside her chest. _Right. Don’t be so stupid_ , she chided herself, feeling her cheeks grow hot. _If he didn’t know he was due a ransom before, he will now_. Impa was always telling her that she was too trusting. _Damn it_!

She glanced up slowly at him. He stared back blankly. His eyes settled on the point of her finger before he spread his own across his chest.

“Vehvan.”

_Vehvan_. Alright. It was either his name or a threat. She preferred the former. He hadn’t bowed, so at the very least he wasn’t interested in politics. She wasn’t exactly sure if that point was in her favor or not. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Vehvan. Thank you for the water and for... before. That was you, wasn’t it? With the molduga?” His brows pitched at the final word. So he knew that one at least, did he? A prick of annoyance smoldered in her chest as she watched an amused look flicker across his features. “Not that I needed help,” she quickly amended. “But it was generous of you to intervene.”

He dipped his chin. Maybe it was a nod. _Good, alright_. She should have segued into a departure, next, but she was just so impossibly tired. He seemed to sense it.

“ _Yanaesh, vai. Eh, Zelda? Yanaesh_.” He pressed gently against her shoulder to ease her against the floor again. She readied herself to bite him if he planned on extending his touch, but once he’d seen that she’d laid down he stood again. _Fine_ , she thought bitterly as he half-crawled his way across the room; _I’ll sleep, but I’m leaving tomorrow_. 

* * *

The egg was raw and the locusts, inexplicably, cooked to a crisp brown. She wasn’t sure which one was more disgusting.

“Eat,” Vehvan insisted. It was the second word he’d learned in the seven days she’d been there. _Zelda_ had been the first, of course, and he said both with annoying frequency.

“No. I’m not going to eat that.” The man clicked his tongue with frustration before shoving the platter into her hands.

“Eat, Zelda, _esli mataesh batta ya_ —”

“I’m not going to die!” He wasn’t the only one with a mind for languages. She tossed the plate onto the ground, her stomach lurching as the yolk broke and flooded the little line of unluckily insects. He crossed his arms over his chest. She mimicked the gesture. “What happened to those fruit? That was at least food!”

“No fru-yit,” he insisted, struggling with the word. “No more. Eat.”

“I don’t want to eat! I want to go home!” She wasn’t being very noble. Father certainly would have chided her if she had been at her dining table at home. But, then again, he also would have nearly fainted from fury if a servant had brought him bugs to eat.

“No eat, no home!”

“You can’t tell me what to do!” She would have stormed out of the cave in that very instant if it were not so painful to feel the sun on her burned skin. To be fair, Vehvan’s queer medicines had made a fine work of everything so far. It wouldn’t be long before the blisters faded entirely and then, _oh-ho_ , then there would be nothing that would stop her leaving, no matter what he said.

She heard him suck in a deep breath. It was followed by a sigh. He leaned forward from his cross-legged seat to snatch one of the locusts from the tray. It crunched between his teeth. Mostly the sound of it made her ill, but it also made her wonder what he’d eaten himself. That was right. They were in a desert, weren’t they? A finger of guilt worked its way between her ribs.

“Why are you helping me?” He considered her question carefully. Some of the words she’d said he knew, but not _helping_. She searched her short vocabulary of his own language to see if she could bridge the two. So far she had learned _sav’aaq_ , which she took to mean hello, and _sav’orr_ , which must have meant something about the night because he was always saying it before she went to sleep. She’d also learned the word for _water_ , as well, and _hand_ — mistranslated at first, since they were always signing to try to talk to one another — and _head_ and the word for _dying_ as well, perhaps troublingly. None of that was very helpful now.

“Why,” she persevered, waving her hand in a line between the two of them, “Vehvan he-lp-ing Zelda?” His brow furrowed as he tried to tease out the meaning behind her clumsy miming. He always looked so serious when he made that face. It would have made her laugh if she wasn’t so frustrated all of the time.

“Why ‘ _ayuquesh’_? _La hukmanaesh, qui ya tesh ayuquesh_?” That second part she knew — he was always saying it when he tried to puzzle out what she was saying. _Is that what you mean?_

“Maybe,” she admitted. He frowned again. She laughed. He didn’t know that word. Perhaps it was a bit too early to wander into the idea of hypotheticals quite yet. “Yes,” she corrected. “Why ‘ _ya ayuquesh_ ’?”

His face fell. _Shit_. Maybe she had become a little too confident in their game. Her mind spun as she tried to piece together an apology for whatever curse she’d just told him, but she was stopped short by the hunch of his shoulders. He was always shrugging like that. It made him look like a little boy — not that he was built like one.

“ _Pa’ek tesh bila sola_.” Whatever it was he had said, his tone left her feeling a little sad. Yes, well, it was all sad, wasn’t it? It wasn’t as though she had cast a pretty picture for herself after she’d fallen off his horse. _Don’t pity me_ , she wanted to order him, but she knew that she probably deserved it. _Ugh. Nevermind_.

“Well...Thank you. Thank you for your help.” He smiled lightly in response. It was enough to embolden her to take one of the wretched locusts from the plate. Her eyes watered as she took a bite.


	2. The Oasis

“You don’t need to come with me,” she insisted as she stomped through the sand. When she’d asked him where she could bathe — so thoroughly mortified by her own smell that she could stand it no longer — she had hardly meant that she wanted him to join her. But there he was regardless, all wrapped up in his robes again as he led her through the dunes. “Just tell me the way. I won’t get lost this time.”

“I go with you,” he answered simply over his shoulder.

“I’m telling you, it’s hardly necessary. Needed. No want.” She’d been trying to simplify what she said for his benefit, but it was difficult when he inevitably riled her nerves. 

“I go with you,” came his final verdict. An annoyed sound ripped from deep inside her chest.

She stared up into the sky, no longer willing to glare at the back of his stupid head. The sun had begun to set. It was beautiful. She’d discovered that he made his home at some edge of the desert — although only the goddesses knew which one — and there the dunes weren’t very high, so that it looked as though nearly all of the endless space before them was in the sky. It was the sort of view she could only get from the highest towers at home, and Father was always chiding her for climbing that high, so she very rarely had the pleasure. She felt her lips crawl into a smile despite her best intentions.

“Here,” he announced with no further fanfare. She glanced down from the heavens and gasped at what she found.

“I knew it!” She flung her arms into the air. “I knew that it was out here!”

So maybe her calculations had been somewhat off but she had still been right, hadn’t she? Zelda dashed towards the oasis, her eyes watering at the sight of its blue lagoon and the long fronds that skirted it on all sides.

“What?” He’d followed her at a more moderate pace. She turned and planted her fists on her hips to assume a second victory pose.

“The oasis! Corkus told me that it was impossible for an oasis to form here, but that old badger hasn’t had a proper idea in thirty years.” She pictured the aged librarian with glee, perhaps accentuating the sharp point of his nose to an excess. Vehvan smiled at her, undoubtedly clueless of what she had said but pleased enough that she was pleased as well. She beamed back at him. “And look how blue it is! Incredible! I wonder if it has to do with the mineral content in the stone here.”

She danced forward to kneel at the shoreline. The water was as clear as glass. She dipped her fingers in it and marveled as the perfect reflection of the setting orange sun was shattered by a half-dozen slow-rolling waves.

“Beautiful,” she muttered as she hunted out her sleeves. She’d nearly wrenched her ratty dress over her head before she realized that he was still there. “What are you doing?”

He flinched at her sudden accusation but made no move to turn.

“Standing,” he answered. Why had she taught him that word? 

“I know that you’re _standing_. Don’t watch! Turn around!”

“What?” She balled her fingers into fists and mimicked the movement for him.

“Turn. Around.”

“Why turn around?”

“What do you mean why? Because I’m going to bathe!” She hadn’t taken him for a pervert but he was still a man, wasn’t he? Or a very tall boy — to be honest, she wasn’t so certain which. It wasn’t that he was simple-minded, but he was always very earnest in everything he did. Quite frankly it was a little off putting, particularly now as he watched her flatly while she gesticulated the social norms surrounding proper decency. She flipped the hem of her dress at him. “No clothes!”

“Oh.” For a moment she was relieved, until he stepped forward towards her, his hands pulled from the pockets he’d previously hidden them inside and ready to grab.

“No! I don’t need your help to take them off! Gah!” She gripped him by the shoulders and pushed until he pivoted around. “Stay!” She eyed him cautiously for a long time afterwards before she was convinced that he meant to behave. _Honestly_. “Stay,” she added for good measure before slowly pulling the dress over her head.

He listened to her, to his credit, even as she sighed with pleasure as the warm water swallowed her up. Her skin still stung slightly at the touch of it, but it was worth the price to finally clean the grit and grime from her body. She did so carefully and thoroughly, paying special attention to her hair, and would have been lured to sleep afterwards if not for the sound of Vehvan’s bored fidgeting. _Oh, right_ , she reminded herself glumly. She glanced across the pool and spotted the hunched shape of an old palm that had fallen some time before. The water burbled as she swam behind it.

“Vehvan. You can... You can stop. Don’t you want to bathe?”

“No,” he answered simply. It made her feel guilty, although she wasn’t exactly sure why. He always looked very neat, anyways, so maybe he’d managed it already while she slept some night before. Well, very neat except for the dreadful shape of his hair. Even at dusk it looked ridiculous, all ragged and uneven as if...

“Vehvan,” she repeated, a new thought crossing her mind. “How long have you been alone?”

“What?” He glanced over his shoulder at her. _Oh, no!_ She shrunk further behind the sunken palm. He’d seen her in a worse state before, she tried to convince herself, but it did little to settle her nerves. Impa would have been delirious at her impropriety but, well, these were unusual circumstances, were they not?

“Nothing. Nevermind. Turn around. I’m getting out.”

She dressed silently. Vehvan maintained his careful watch of the empty desert. He would have nearly reminded her of the castle guards at home if not for the way his fingers were always toying with the hems of his sleeves. She thought again about her question from before. Her eyes lingered on the sparkle of the dawning stars as she did.

“Vehvan,” she spoke out again after some time, “do you think... Could we sleep out here tonight?” He took her words as a signal that he could finally move. She did not chide him as he turned, although she smirked at the confused cock of his brow.

“Isn’t it more comfortable out here than in that cave? We can head back before the sun rises,” she continued. She’d spent enough nights sleeping in the desert already, and nothing had eaten her yet, so that meant that it was safe, didn’t it? The more she thought on the idea, the more claustrophobic his little cave became. _Please say yes_ , she begged, although part of her bristled at the idea that she needed his approval at all.

“Sleep here?” He seemed bemused by the idea.

“Please,” she begged him. “I don’t need a bed or anything. And the stars are so bright, it’s not as if we need a fire.”

“Fire,” he echoed. “Cold.”

“I’m not cold.”

“Night cold.”

“Alright, fine,” she acquiesced. “But if we build a fire, can we stay? Please?”

“Please?” He tested the word. _Yes, right, okay._

“Please means want,” she offered quickly. “Zelda want. Alright? Just one night.”

“Al-right,” he answered with some hesitation. She shot him a wide smile.

“Excellent! Let’s find some kindling, then.”

* * *

He had been right. She’d never admit it to him, of course, but as the night grew on it became impossibly cold. She hadn’t remembered that as much from before, but maybe that was because her skin had been burned so badly then that she’d nearly generated as much heat as the sun herself. Now, thanks to Vehvan’s nursing, she was quite well enough to be miserable again.

Not that she would let him know that.

She inched slowly closer towards the fire.

“Zelda cold.”

“I’m not cold.”

“ _Gah, tarak’chaya vai sigda wadaesh_ ,” he muttered cryptically beneath his breath as he pulled the long fabric folded at his shoulders free. She’d hardly had the chance to protest his offering before he tossed it over her head. On him it had been a hood, but on her it was nearly a bedsheet. Perhaps if her own clothes weren’t so ragged she would have fought the look, but, well, it was still warm from his body and, after all, it was so terribly cold. She tucked it around her shoulders morosely.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

“ _You’re_ welcome,” she corrected him. “There’s no need for you to talk like a child.”

“You’re welcome,” he grumped. She grinned and was reminded again of her pondering from the pool.

“How old are you, Vehvan?”

“Eh?” With anyone else that may have been a rebuke for her directness, but here it was just another reminder that she had been lax with his language lessons. She bit her lip as she tried to consider a better translation.

“How long have you... er, ‘not _mataesh_ ’?” _Not died_. His face broke into an amused shape as she struggled over the words. She flushed. “That is, how long have you lived? Here.” She drew a line in the sand with her finger and repeated it seventeen more times until her fingertip was nearly numb. “The ah... Well, the moon, right? So, there is a full moon twelve times in a year. Most times. That is. And a full moon is — ah.” She pointed up at the milky crescent in the sky. “Moon. Right?”

“Moon,” he agreed flatly.

“Good. Right. So.” She drew a circle in the sand. “Full moon. And twelve of them is a year.” She erased some of her dashes with the back of her palm and looked at him to see if he understood. _Maybe not. That was pretty stupid_.

“Twelve moon, one year,” he summarized.

“Yes!” She clapped her hands, pleased with her brilliant pedagogy. Her tally grew to eighteen again. “So uh, I... ‘ne mataesh’, I lived, for eighteen twelve-moons, just this past summer, in fact. And you?” He shrugged his shoulders. _Damnit_. “Sorry. I was being confusing. Let’s see, if I—”

“I don’t know,” he interrupted her. “ _Ya tesh hukmanaesh_.” _I understand you._

“Oh. Well. Alright. Do you remember when you came here, then? To the desert?”

“Always.”

“No, I mean, with your mother and father?” His face hardened slightly. It was enough for her to catch. Her stomach sunk. A wiser part of her urged her to drop the subject, but her wicked curiosity kept her on course. “Vehvan, why is it only you out here? How many moons has its just been Vehvan?” His shoulders shrugged again.

“Always.”

* * *

How many moons had she been in the desert? She thought on the question some time later, her legs folded under her as she stared into the stars. There was no moon that night, but there had been two full ones since she had first arrived. Too long. Even her father would start to worry, now, and Impa was likely to have pulled each strand of hair from her head if she hadn’t sent herself to cells already for strangling the guards that had originally let Zelda escape. So why was she still there?

It was an embarrassing question that she didn’t quite want to answer. At first it had been that she was sick — and she truly had been, even if she had been so stubborn to admit it. She would have surely died of sun fever if she’d tried to make the crossing before, as burned as she had been. But then her skin had settled and her head had stopped aching from her fall, so what was she doing lingering there now?

 _Pa’ek tesh bila sola_.

That had been Vehvan’s answer for her when she’d asked him why he’d helped her. It had taken her nearly a full turn of the moon to puzzle it out. _Pa’ek_ came first — it meant _because_ , both as a question and as an answer. _Tesh_ came hand in hand — that was _you_ , a simple word. _Bila_ was still outside of her reach, but he used it so often she figured it couldn’t have been that important. _Sola_ came last but it had been the key. _Alone_ , it meant.

_Because you were alone._

“You should sleep.” His voice followed him as stepped outside to join her. He’d been a far better student than she had. Any doubts she’d had about his cleverness had quickly faded once he’d started devouring each word of Hylian she’d taught him. He spoke it smoothly, now, if accented and still full of holes. She would have been annoyed with him for his skill — should have been, maybe, in the way she’d always been bitterly jealous of the other noble girls when they’d bested her in their childhood classrooms — but she couldn’t manage it, not anymore. It was more pride that she felt now, really, and something else she didn’t quite want to explore.

“I’m alright.”

“You’ll be tired.” He was right. They’d spent the afternoon exploring the depths of the cavern system, the mouth of which he’d made his home; the cherry of the venture had been the discovery of a huge ravine filled with glowing stones. He’d had to hold her back from crawling even deeper to fetch a sample. She could still feel the warmth of his grip on her arm.

“I have to go home,” she answered indelicately. His mouth opened and closed again without providing a reply. Her heart began to beat loudly in her ears. “I have to go home. My family... I can’t make them worry. They’ll think I’m dead.”

“Yes. Right.”

“Vehvan, I... Thank you. For everything. You’ve showed me so many things out here that I’ve never even dreamed of before.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied. “It was my pleasure.” Why had she taught him that stupid, stilted phrase? Better that he barked at her in his own language — called her selfish, or cruel, or fickle, or... Or _something_. He wasn’t just another royal pawn to cater to her, so why in all the heavens had she taught him that? “Tomorrow night. I’ll show you the way.”

“Do you,” she stuttered the words before she lost the courage, “do you want to come with me?”


	3. Homecoming

“You lost your horse.” 

“No.”

She glanced across the empty flatlands with a sigh.

“Well,” Zelda continued flatly, “once you had a horse and now you don’t, and you don’t know where it’s gone. In my language we call that ‘lost’.”

“I don’t have a horse.”

“Then what do you call that thing you were riding when you chased off that molduga? An elephant?” His eyebrows rose high onto his brow.

“That was a horse.”

“Argh!” She palmed her fingers over her face and left them there, trying, and failing, to settle her heckled nerves. _What an idiot._ She should have never have invited him home. “I know it was a—”

“I don’t own him,” he continued with the tone of a man explaining to a child that the sky was blue. “He comes when he wishes.”

“Well, that’s fantastic,” she huffed. “I’m sure he’s very happy with the arrangement. Unfortunately, that means that we have to walk to Castle Town! It will take us... I don’t even know how many days it will take us. Although I suppose we can go to the Canyon Stables, but that will...” _That will spoil my secret too early_. She didn’t want to tell him that. “Anyway. I don’t even know why you had a horse to begin with. They aren’t meant for this sort of land. He’s probably dea—”

“He’s not dead,” Vehvan interrupted bitterly. His tone sent a shudder down her spine. He didn’t sound like that so often. _Yes, alright, sorry._

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that they aren’t really built for sand, are they?” She sighed. “Alright. So. Let’s see. The North Star is there, which means that the Nabooru Pass should be....” She planted her hands against her hips as she scanned the horizon line. “There. I think. Maybe. So if we — what are you doing?”

He’d sat. The sight of him looking so relaxed nearly set her temper free. She bristled, her teeth grinding in her ears, and struggled to string together a more polite rebuttal of his poor behavior. He cut her short by sticking two of his fingers between his lips and blowing out a sharp whistle.

“What _are you doing_ ?” The distant whinny of a horse replied. _You must be joking_. She caught a quick grin spilling over Vehvan’s lips before he covered them with the wind of his headdress. She huffed out a conciliatory sound and turned to watch the animal make its approach.

First it was a black dot on the horizon — and then, ever closer, a monster. Her gut turned cold as it cantered in their direction. This wasn’t the creature she’d ridden on before. That one had been slender and roan, not hulking and tar-colored like the stallion hunting them out. Vehvan stood as the beast circled them, his hands reaching out to stroke its muzzle. It snuffed and tossed its head, its fiery mane spilling behind it like the hot breath of a forge.

“That...” She shrunk under the stallion’s black gaze. “Where did he come from?” _Hell_ , she supposed he should have answered. Vehvan, predictably, shrugged.

“Come,” he told her as he swung himself onto the horse’s broad back. She eyed his extended hand uneasily. “It’s better to ride with the moon.”

“Alright,” she relented slowly. She drew in a deep breath and dashed towards them both, hoping that her momentum would be enough to climb the towering beast. She was mostly right. Vehvan’s own grip managed the rest and soon she found herself perched behind him, her legs tucked side-saddle to accommodate the tattered length of her skirts. She grit her teeth as the horse stepped forward, nearly falling from its back for a second doomed fall before she grabbed at the tail of the man’s hood to keep her steady. He endured it — silently, by some blessed luck.

She realized that it would be a long ride.

* * *

_So, listen. There’s something I have to tell you_. No. That sounded far too serious.

 _Now that we’re friends I thought I’d_ — wait, no, then she’d have to explain what _friends_ meant, and that wouldn’t be so easy to mime.

_Have you ever heard of Hyrule?_

_Do you know what a king is?_ She stared glumly into the square of his back.

 _I didn’t mean to lie to you. I just didn’t want you to leave me behind._

None of that would work.

“Have you left the desert before?” There, that was better. She eyed the ground beneath them as she said it. It had begun to grow ever greener as the sun above them had started to rise.

“Yes.” Her brows raised. She hadn’t expected that.

“Really? Where did you go?” He shrugged his shoulders. _Right_. “Did you meet any people when you did?”

“Yes.”

“But then you went back to the desert? Why?” He glanced back at her. She flushed — that _was_ a bit rude, wasn’t it?

“The people that I met — I did not speak their language,” he answered. “They were not kind to me.”

Yes, she realized glumly, that wasn’t much of a surprise. Her people were honest and hardworking, but they had always been a bit fearful. She supposed that they had been rather bred for it, what with all of the ridiculous legends they were told and swore to be true. None of that had ever mattered much to her but she imagined for him, born with that unlucky hair and dark as he was from the sun, it might have been a little different.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t your fault. It’s just that... Well. This place, in our language we call it Hyrule. It’s a large land — well, you know that, of course — and we use the word ‘empire’ for that. The empire is made up of a number of different kingdoms, and in those kingdoms different sorts of people live. In the past they didn’t share much between them. They were afraid of each other, you understand? It isn’t like that today, but in the past there was one kingdom that the others feared far more than the rest. They’re gone now, but they — well, you see, some of them looked a little like you. I mean, that’s an oversimplification, of course, but the illustrated histories all show them as red-haired and dark-skinned. Of course there are plenty of people with red hair in Hyrule,” she amended with a self-conscious laugh, “but try explaining that to a farmhand.”

He was silent. She realized that perhaps she’d used too many new words. _Honestly, Zelda_ , she chided herself, _you’re not very good at this_. 

“So,” she continued on more carefully, “the people might be a little wary of you — afraid of you — but once you speak with them, I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“And what is your kingdom?” She was surprised by the question, although perhaps not by his curiosity. Her lips turned into a smile.

“We just call it Hyrule. I know,” she laughed, “it’s a little presumptuous, isn’t it? Oh, I mean, it’s — _silly_ , that is. But Hyrule is the capital of the empire, so I guess we can call ourselves whatever we like.”

“I see. And do they all look like you?” That made her blush, although she wasn’t quite certain why.

“Yes. Most of the kingdoms do, you know. Here. I’ll tell you all of them. There is Hyrule, of course — sometimes we call it Central Hyrule. Northwest of that is the kingdom of Hebra. That’s where the Rito live. They’re incredible people. To us they look like birds.”

“Birds?”

“Yes! With wings and beaks and everything, and they can fly! Although you shouldn’t say any of this to them. They are a very proud people. I have not spent so much time in Hebra, but I hope one day I can. To the east of them is the kingdom of Eldin, a place that is really a volcan— err, a mountain full of fire. The Goron people live there. I don’t know how to describe them, except that they look quite like rock. They are very strong, as you can imagine, and loyal as well. Just south of Eldin are the Zora, who are a people born from the sea and have the look of it as well. I think you would like them very much.

Farther east from Eldin is the kingdom of Akkala, which we actually call a ‘free city’ which is — well, that’s boring. But there is Akkala and Lanayru and Necluda and Faron, and they are all free cities, which basically means that they are too small to be kingdoms but too stubborn to be part of Hyrule proper.” She laughed. “They are all fantastic places as well, of course, and all sorts of people live there.”

“And the desert?”

“Right! Of course. Sorry, I don’t know how I missed that one. Not so much is known about the desert — well, I know that’s a silly thing to say to you. But to us it is a mystery. That’s why I traveled there.” Her chest puffed with pride at the admission. She did not include that her travels had been a secret — or that her father would have struck her in irons if he’d known about them before she’d left. “In our language we call it the Gerudo Desert.”

“Ah,” Vehvan answered thoughtfully, “ _dzherude_. Yes. That is what I am.”

“You live in the Gerudo Desert, yes,” she corrected him. “But you aren’t a Gerudo.” It was an important distinction for him to make before they met anyone on their homeward journey — particularly given the way he looked.

“No.” He looked over his shoulder at her again, his tone patient and firm. “My mother was from the desert. She was _dzherude_. I am _dzherude_.”

“No, Vehvan. That isn’t possible. The last of the Gerudo died hundreds of years ago.” His shoulders hunched forward. 

“ _Ya ne lak’shaz_.” _I’m not a fool_. Her mouth grew dry. Perhaps their lessons were done for the day.

* * *

She yawned. She’d meant for it to be tidy and silent, ladylike, but out crooned a loud sigh before she could stop herself. Her stomach sunk lower into her gut as she heard Vehvan laugh beneath his breath.

“Let’s stop for the night.” It seemed less a suggestion than an order, the way he’d already urged his monstrous stallion to slow.

“Alright.” At least he was still speaking to her. She’d been simmering in guilt since her failed geography overview. So far she had concluded that she had perhaps been treating him too much like a child. It was difficult not to, the way he was always prattling off questions and staring blankly at her when she included a new word without its accompanying explanation but — but she was a princess, wasn’t she? So she really should have managed it more thoughtfully than she had. Her chest churned with apprehension as she watched him dismount. He did not look bitter, at least, as he helped her to her feet.

The roads had been blessedly empty so far. From the position of the stars and the shape of the flora flanking the roadside she wagered that they were in Outskirts near Aquame Lake. It would become more difficult to dodge travelers once they began their pass of the Great Plateau. _You have to tell him_ , a voice inside her insisted as she helped him gather kindling for a fire.

 _Yes, I know. I know. But just not yet. Give me a little more time_.

He settled himself across the fire from her once it was hot and crackling. They’d found some apples in their foraging as well. She turned hers between her fingers while her eyes scanned its shiny skin. They glanced up carefully, from time to time, to watch him as he ate his own.

 _Dzherude_. She wondered what it meant. She was a Hylian because of Hylia, so what about him?

 _Don’t be naive_. 

But...Maybe he was right. She might not have been the most diligent history student, more charmed by the mysteries of Akkala’s laboratories and the promise of the unexplored spots studding her atlases, but she’d learned enough to know that the Gerudo were as extinct as the grand dragons that used to haunt the skies. Extinct and twice-feared for everything they’d done. But he certainly had the look, didn’t he, with his long legs and aquiline face? And he did live in that blasted desert, after all, although not in the skeleton of old Gerudo Town, long forgotten now that its sparkling fountains had run dry. So what if he was right?

 _Impossible_.

“I’m sorry,” she managed finally, quashing her thoughts under the weight of her guilt. “For being rude.”

“I know.” Her shoulders twitched. That wasn’t really what he was supposed to say. She stopped herself from correcting him.

“So you...” she attempted lamely, “you knew your parents, then?”

“Yes.” His eyes settled on hers. The gold of them was harsh under the campfire’s glow. “What do you call yourself? Hyrule-an?”

“Hylian,” she corrected him.

“Hylian.” He nodded. “My father was Hylian. He looked like you.” He pinched one of the jagged strands of his hair. “Gold hair and always pink from the sun.” Her lips twitched. Well, that wasn’t fair. She wasn’t always _pink_. “My mother was like me.”

“Were you born in the desert, then?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t remember where it was, but I do remember riding there. It was only my mother then. She went to the desert with me.”

“What happened to her?” He shrugged his shoulders.

“We lived together for a time and then we didn’t. Then I was alone.”

“She _left_ you?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“How old were you?” His shoulders bobbed again.

“Not as old as I am now.”

“That’s terrible,” Zelda breathed, her brows knitting together tightly. How could a mother leave her son alone in a place like that? His eyes flicked down to stare into the fire.

“I don’t know. She taught me how to speak and how to read, and how to find water and what things to eat. That was all good.”

“But she was your _mother,_ ” she insisted, clapping her hand against her chest in the spot where it had begun to ache. “She was supposed to do more than that. Protect you, you know. Love you.” He frowned lightly.

“I don’t know that word.”

“It’s,” she stuttered, flushing, “it’s complicated.” He hummed a noncommittal sound.

“Why do you not want me to be a Gerudo?” Her chest fell at his shrewdness. He was looking at her again.

“There was a war,” she managed meekly, “long ago. It wasn’t the first of its kind, but each time it happened it was more horrible than the last. Many people died. There are many sides to it, of course, but no matter who you ask they’ll all agree that it was Gerudo that cast the first stone to set everything into motion. They are said to have been a very... well, aggressive culture, full of thieves and — that doesn’t matter. The truth of it is that history is a very complicated thing but, unfortunately, Hylians take it very seriously.”

“I’m not a thief,” he replied. His simple assurance made her smile.

“I know you aren’t. And others will as well, once they come to know you. But they’ll think that you are at first, when they see the look of you, and quite likely they’ll be cruel. So... I’m sorry for it.” He shook his head.

“You were not cruel to me.”

“No,” she mumbled, picking at the blades of grass growing between her feet. “No, not cruel.”

* * *

They had encountered twelve riders during the second leg of their journey. Three had trotted past them without a second glance, too busy with their own visions of grandeur to notice the princess clinging to back of that dread stallion as it galloped in the opposite direction. Four sitting together in a caravan had cried out, their heads bowed low as they yanked at the reins of their oxen to stop them. Vehvan had not spotted them. By the time that their voices had reached them they’d already careened further down the path. 

Three more, peasant girls picking mushrooms at the roadside, had called out blessings at them. She had explained that away easily enough. The final two were guards. They were more difficult. She stared in horror at them now as they gaped at her from the heights of the city gates.

“Y-your majesty!” One cried out.

“Open the gates!” The other insisted, his voice pitched with excitement. She shrunk lower behind Vehvan’s shoulders as the chains began to clatter in their runs. He remained mute before her. Well, she supposed that the castle wasn’t much compared to an angry molduga, after all.

“Princess Zelda!” She quickly changed her mind as she spotted the shape of Impa’s stomping figure as the gates began to rise. How had she found her so quickly? A gasp peeped through her lips as the woman advanced upon them. Her hand hovered over the spot at her hip where Zelda knew she kept a hidden assortment of well-honed blades. _Oh, shit_.

“Impa!” She leapt from the stallion’s back and danced between them to place herself squarely in the Sheikah’s path. “How wonderful it is to see you again.” The older woman frowned and, her eyes still centered on Vehvan’s hooded head, dipped into a reluctant bow.

“Hyrule rejoices at your return, princess,” she replied between her teeth. “Praytell, how did you find your journey?”

“A delight,” Zelda insisted, speaking loud enough so that the guards stationed along the gate walls could hear. “Our empire is a fine and beautiful land.”

“And may I ask about your accompaniment, my lady?” She shrunk further under the woman’s withering tone.

“Y-yes,” she stuttered, glancing up at the man in question. He did not return her look. It seemed as though he was mesmerized by the spires of the castle laid before them, although it was difficult to make out the shape of his eyes from beneath all of his robes.

“This is...That is, I...” She cleared her throat. “As you know, I have a deep interest and respect of the faith of our glorious empire. In an effort to deepen my understanding of the divine, I have sought out the services of a... guru to guide me on my spiritual journey. The man before you is a scholar of divinity, heretofore a hermit exiled for his own spiritual introspection. I had read much about his deep knowledge on the subject, and so sought him out to inquire if he would be interested in serving us as a tutor. He has generously agreed to our terms.”

She glanced up at him again, silently begging him to play along and half-hoping that her theatrical monologue would be meandering enough to leave him somewhat unawares of what pledges she’d just made on his behalf.

“Of course, he has made a sacred oath of silence in honor of our lady Hylia—”

“My name is Vehvan,” he interrupted flatly. She felt her blood run cold.

“— but he has generously postponed this oath in order to assist me in my own spiritual aims,” she finished quickly. Impa regarded them both with a gravelly stare of her own.

“I see,” she answered finally. “How pleased his majesty the king will be to hear of the princess’ piety. Come, I will escort you to your rooms so that the princess may prepare for an audience with him. Certainly he will want to hear more about your designs directly. Captain Menard, if you would please show the good brother Vehvan to the eastern quarters, I’m certain he will find the accommodations to his satisfaction.”

“Nonsense,” Zelda stuttered. “It has been many years since Brother Vehvan has been in the company of his fellows before. Allow me to sh—”

“That is very generous of you,” Impa cut her short. “As always the princess thinks of others before herself. However I must assure you that we can manage the work of settling him to your pleasure. If you would follow me, my lady.” Her look left little open for debate. Zelda steeled her shoulders and nodded.

 _I’m sorry, Vehvan_ , she thought as she sulked in Impa’s wake; _please don’t be cross with me for what I’ve done_. She knew, in the deepest parts of her, that it wasn’t her lie about his newfound faith that demanded an apology.


	4. Heroes and Villains

For all of the powers she was rumored to have locked away inside her, Zelda knew that future-sight wasn’t one. Still, she had a strong prediction of how she’d fair under her father’s all-seeing gaze. _Not well_ , she wagered, that glare of his already burning her alive even with the many rooms and halls of the palace stacked between them.

She stared back meekly at her own reflection and fingered the dark scar tissue at the points of her elbows. She’d already washed and combed and braided her hair — assisted by a flock of handmaidens who shared her worried looks — but although she’d donned the right hairstyle to denote her position as a dutiful princess there was still something different about her now, skinned elbows or otherwise. She ran her fingers over the crisp lines across her body where the sun had burned her and where it was still pale, her cheeks growing even redder as she remembered the feeling of the oasis as it had swallowed her up.

Had he seen her like this? She traced her finger along the center-line of her body, stopping as it dipped into the shallow crater of her navel. He’d covered each burnt part of her with that cool, green stuff and even wrapped the worst spots with bands of sand-colored cloth. So he must have, really, but she couldn’t remember the touch of him doing it; and, what more, when she had first woken in the dark of his little cave she had already been dressed in her torn clothes again.

 _It doesn’t matter,_ she insisted as she snatched her roving hand away. _Don’t think about it_. Especially not now. Her father would surely read the look of whatever that pathetic feeling was lurking in her chest, and that would make her ruse about Vehvan’s spiritual enlightenment even more difficult to spin.

“Princess,” Impa interrupted her, not bothering to knock before she swung open the door into her quarters. Zelda cried out in alarm, crossing her arms over her bare chest as the Sheikah advanced. She did not seem impressed by the shape of her naked body. “Have you forgotten that I was the one who helped your mother usher you into this world, my lady?”

“I-Impa,” Zelda answered, ignoring the heat of her cheeks as she forced her arms to settle, “how good to see you.” Impa frowned, seemingly perturbed by the woman’s newfound modesty. Zelda made another stubborn noise as she stepped closer and snatched one of her arms from her hip.

“Where was it that you sought out the services of that good brother of yours?”

“Necluda,” Zelda offered, her mind picturing all of the sunken temples hidden behind the free city’s lush trees. Impa huffed a breath through her nose.

“I hear that there have been terrible storms in the east for nearly a full turn of the moon. They say you can hardly see the sun at all.” She turned Zelda’s forearm between her fingers and ran her thumb along the dark line where the sleeve of her dress had once lain.

“Yes, well,” Zelda amended quickly, “I began my journey in Necluda, and that is where I learned more about Brother Vehvan’s hermitage. Which was in Faron, actually, along the cape. How lovely the sea looks at this time of year!”

“If you can’t lie properly to me, then how can you possible hope to trick your father with this nonsense as well?” Her mouth grew dry as Impa’s fingers tightened around her wrist. “What were you thinking, Zelda? Going into the desert like that? It is by Hylia’s grace alone that you aren’t already dead!”

“I’m fine!” Zelda pulled her arm free and crossed it over her chest again. “Nothing happened! I just lost track of time.”

“You are not _fine_ ,” Impa insisted between the grit of her teeth. “You impudent child! How could you possibly tell me that you’ve developed an interest in the divine — long overdue, might I remind you, princess — and then bring that man into the capital? Do you mean to destroy us all?”

“What are you talking about? He’s just a—”

“Don’t. Don’t lie to me. Of anyone, do you truly think that I would not recognize a monk? I know what he is. I want you to say it, too. Or have you already forgotten your lessons?”

“Impa,” Zelda snapped, turning to pull her dressing robe over her shoulders with quick stabbing strokes, “honestly, I’ve had enough of these superstitions. I can’t take it any longer. Even you aren’t stupid enough to believe them.”

“Stupid!” Impa’s snowy brows flicked up towards her hairline, her voice drawn into a rare soprano. “How can you say something like that? Your birth was proof itself that the teachings are true!” 

“How, exactly? Because Father insisted that I be given this ridiculous name? I’m not a little girl anymore. I don’t need any bedtime stories. I am not some witch, or whatever you want to call me, and neither are you!”

“You are _not_ a _witch_ ,” Impa gasped, her hands coupling at her chest in horror, “you are the reinca—”

“No, I’m not!” She snatched a vase from a nearby table and dashed it against the ground. “I’m not anything but a foolish girl who’s listened to all of you for far too long! Look around us, Impa. There is no calamity seeking me out, just like there was nothing hunting auntie other than — than her own imagination and too many royal balls!”

“Your father’s sister was different, yes,” Impa agreed gravely, “and her mother before her as well, I will not deny it. Hylia graced neither with Her powers. But you, child, you were born with Her mark as plain as the nose on your face.”

“Was I? And who was there to see it before it disappeared again?”

“I was! And your good mother as well, and the grand healer Saffan.”

“How convenient, then, that it was just you and a dead woman and a liar!”

“Zelda!” The princess felt her lips draw into a scowl just as the tears began to gather in her eyes. _Don’t_ , she ordered, and still they streaked along her cheeks. _Stop it. Stop crying_. Impa strode forward to embrace her tight against her chest. “Hush, child. Calm yourself.”

“I am _calm_ ,” she muttered bitterly into the soft fabric of her shirt. “I’m... he... he’s my _friend_ , Impa. He helped me.”

“He’s a Gerudo, princess.”

“And so what if he is?” Zelda sniffed and stared upwards in challenge into the older woman’s face. Impa smiled and brushed the tears dripping from her chin.

“There are no men born from Gerudo, sweetling. None save for one.”

“Well, there aren’t any Gerudo at all, anymore,” Zelda insisted stubbornly. “You told me that they were all dead. Is it really so impossible for you to be _wrong_ about something, even if it’s only once?”

“Princess,” she chided her gently.

“His name is Vehvan. His father was from Hyrule — that means that he has a right to live here, too.”

“ _Princess_.”

“And if he hadn’t found me in the dunes I would have died. I owe my life to him. If he’s really who you say he is, why would he have done something like that?”

“I can’t pretend to understand the workings of the devil.”

“Oh, Impa. Enough.” She pushed away from her hold. “You’re wrong. He’s just an unlucky man. I won’t toss him out just because of what he looks like. Besides, if he’s truly... _him_ , then he’s never managed to kill me before.”

“You shouldn’t mock the gods,” Impa warned her tightly.

“I’m not,” Zelda insisted as she stepped carefully around the broken vase to hunt out her gown. “But I won’t be their slave, either.”

* * *

“Darling,” the king proclaimed from the heights of his chair as she made her way down the length of the carpeted nave, “how my heart soars to see you looking so well.”

“Father,” she replied nicely, sinking into a curtsy once she had finished her approach. She peeked up timidly as she did, her eyes tracing the thick brocade of his vestments to slowly sneak towards his face. He looked pleased to see her. It was rare, if reassuring. “I hope I have not worried you.”

“Oh, daughter,” King Rohneld sighed, leaning back into his throne after waving at her to stand to her feet, “if I worried every time you snuck from the castle walls I would be a man already in my grave. But you were gone quite a long time.”

“I know. I will not make the mistake again.”

“Won’t you?” He drummed his fingers along the arms of his seat. “No matter. The important thing is that you are now home. Although I’m afraid it would be improper for me to forgive you entirely.” Her chest sunk.

“Yes, Father?”

“I believe it’s time for you to be assigned a proper guard.”

“Oh. No, I don’t—”

“I do,” he insisted, his rumbling tone enough to convince her tongue to steady. “In fact it’s rather overdue. Impa has seen to it. I imagine you will trust her judgment as well as I have. She says that he is the most talented sword of the Royal Guard.” Of course he was. She’d already read the story a dozen times before. _Damnit, Impa_.

“And may I ask his name?” There was a hint of a smirk on her father’s lips.

“Is there really a need? I’ve instructed him to meet you in the central courtyard for a formal introduction. He has, of course, been sworn to the utmost discretion. I must insist that you not preclude him from any of your activities moving forward.” She wasn’t certain if she wanted to test the limits of his definition of ‘activities’. She frowned and hid her blush under the bow of her head.

“As you wish, Father.”

“Good.” He clapped his hands against his thighs. “Now, then. I must admit that I was rather pleased to learn that you have finally developed an interest in the divine.”

_Ah._

“Yes,” she replied quickly, her breath gathering in her throat. “Recently I fear I have found my daily toil so very empty. And yet what a comfortable life you have given me, Father, and how beautiful our empire. I decided that it must have been my faith that was leaving me so hungry, and so I began to seek out help. I realize now that I should have consulted with you beforehand,” she parroted, her mind spinning as she tried to remember all of the words she’d prepared, “but I do hope that you will be pleased with the tutor I’ve found.”

“Quite!” A wide smile split between the hairy borders of his beard and mustache, as white and shining as the hair that grew there. “Hylia help us, daughter, for I had thought that those poor people had all been lost. It is a crime what befell Gerudo, I am not too proud to admit it — and one that our own blood must bear. But I see the goddess’ work in bringing this man to us, and a man of the cloth, no less!”

“Yes...” Zelda answered uneasily, stupefied by her father’s response. It wasn’t like him to invoke the goddesses much at all — he was far more pragmatic than her dutiful Sheikah companion, if perhaps to a fault. Surely there was something else in what he said, but at least he had not banished her newfound friend outright. “Yes. I was of the same mind.”

“You have always been a clever girl. I wish to speak with him.”

“Of course, Father, as you command. It is just that he is sworn to silence, you understand.” Her father cocked a bushy brow.

“I have heard that he spoke aloud at the gates this very morning.”

“Well... sworn to silence except in my company, that is.”

“Ah.” The king nodded sagely. “Of course. He is a servant of the high goddess, is he not? So why would he find himself mute before Her?” Zelda felt herself grow sick.

“Er... Yes, Father. It is as you say.”

“Very well. Perhaps if you accompany us, then. With time, of course. I do not wish to distract you from your study.” She bowed again.

“Thank you, Father.” He hummed a pleased sound.

“Welcome home, daughter mine.” For some reason his welcome did little to steady her nerves.

* * *

There he was. She frowned and tipped higher on her toes to make out the sight of him from between the glass garden’s colored windowpanes. Either he had green hair, like the stained glass he was framed behind, or blond — the latter seemed far more likely. They were always blond, weren’t they? He was tall but not towering — not like Vehvan, _not that it mattered_ — and dressed neatly in his royal uniform.

She titled her head to get a better view of him through crystal instead of green. Yes, he was a blond. The scarlet and navy of his dress flattered his complexion. She wondered if the red doublet would have clashed against a head of red—

_No. Stop it, already. You aren’t some damned schoolgirl._

She cleared her throat, smoothed her skirts, and forced her feet forward into the courtyard.

“Princess!” Her new guard’s voice was of a middling tone. Young, she guessed, which was somewhat perplexing. Surely there had been better swordsmen with a few more years of service to boast about? Perhaps he was the only one of them who had the _look_. Her eyes steadied on the flat brim of his bowed beret as she advanced upon him.

“Sir knight,” she addressed him plainly. He looked up at her — too quickly, she noted, that was against protocol — and smiled.

“Please, call me Link.”

“...Alright.” Her stomach churned at the idea. She wondered, briefly, how many of his comrades had been given the same cursed name. “I imagine Impa has already explained the nature of our arrangement to you?”

“Yes, my lady. His Grace and the princess have given a great honor to me and my family.”

“Well... No matter. I appreciate your service,” she answered stiffly. “Although I’m afraid that your instruction may have been a little... overdrawn. I would like to ensure that we are on the same page.”

“The... page, my lady?”

“That is, that I will not require your attendance within the castle walls.”

“Oh, I—”

“Surely I will not be hunted in my own home?”

“Of course I do not doubt the valor of my compatriots, bu—”

“Good. It’s settled, then. I will call for you whenever I plan to leave the gates. I will give you time to prepare, naturally — let’s see, I will send a message for you the night before, at least whenever I am able. Yes. Excellent. I can see already that we will be close friends.” He stared back at her, seemingly unconvinced. She would have been charmed by his poor poker face if her day had not been so miserable already. “Very good. I will release you to your own fancies, then, until the need arises. Good day, sir knight.”

“G-good day, princess,” he stuttered, watching her, bewildered, as she turned her back and left him alone in the courtyard again.

* * *

She swallowed. It did little to settle her drumming heart. She gripped her gloves, next, already crumpled and damp between her fingers — that wasn’t much help, either. _Oh, get on with it already,_ she begged herself as she stared into the unreadable face of the door leading into the eastern hall. Don’t be a coward.

Well, but, so what if she was? Her father had already ruined all hope of future adventure with his gift of that naive little swordsman-by-way-of-a-spy, and surely Impa would test her twice-over about her readings on faith forevermore, so what if she didn’t want to lose her new friend as well?

_Is that what he is? A friend?_

“Shut up,” she muttered under her breath. That was _impossible_ , firstly, and, moreover, he’d hardly be inclined now. She’d lied to him, after all, hadn’t she? Not only that, but she’d dragged him to this miserable place as well. Her eyes traced the chunky bolts hammered through the boards of the door. There was nothing inherently wrong with the eastern wing, but it was nothing compared to the diamonds of the desert sky. 

What a fool she had been. She sucked in a deep breath. Maybe it would be better if he was furious with her.

 _Well. Nevermind. Let’s just get it over with, shall we?_ She gripped the cool knob of the door and turned.

“Hello?” The empty round of the eastern library stared back at her. It was not an unfamiliar place. Impa had been surprisingly kind, really, in sending him there. The library and the private rooms that ringed it was one of her preferred places. It didn’t boast the same collection as the formal library, built deeper in the royal wing, but it was quieter and warmer, benefiting from the heat of the kitchen that was situated a floor below. Sometimes you could smell bread baking in between the shelves. It was almost as delightful as the scent of all of those old pages.

Well, as lovely as it was, it also appeared to be untouched. So where had he gone?

“Vehvan?” Her second call crackled nervously in her throat. For some reason Impa’s warning echoed in her ears — yes, but what if she was right and now he was hiding somewhere, ready to strike her down and drag her to hell and —

“Zelda!” A rush of heat filled her face as she stepped forward into the center of the room and looked up to spot the man along the winding balcony upstairs. He’d found the telescope, it seemed. His eyes settled on her for only a moment longer before he bent over it again. “Come. Look!”

“I...” she gathered her skirts and approached the little spiraling staircase that would lead her in his direction, her heart still hammering in her ears. “What are you doing?”

“Look at this,” he answered, stepping back to usher her towards the crystal scope. Unsure of how to answer she sidled forward, barely finding enough space for her own feet between his body and the edge of the narrow balcony, and crouched forward to see what he had found. The glowing mouth of Doom Mountain glittered from the other end, bright even against the daytime sky.

“Ah. Yes. That is Eldin. Do you remember?”

“The kingdom of the Goron. Yes. And what do you call that thing?”

“A volcano.”

“Amazing,” he replied, his voice airy and boyish. “And this?”

“A... a telescope.”

“Fantastic. How does it work?”

“There are mirrors and...” she faltered, watching him as he knelt forward to look through it again. They’d given him something new to wear — not the navy dress of the guard but a plain tunic that was a bit too short for his arms and a pair of dark slacks. Somehow it made him look less out of place. “Vehvan I’m... I’m sorry.”

He unfolded to stand tall again and face her. There was the hint of a frown on his lips. There. She knew it. He was upset.

“Sorry? Why?”

“For lying to you.”

“I don’t know that word.”

“For not... for not telling you who I am.” His brow furrowed lightly in confusion. Had they not told him anything? Surely he must have at least started to build some idea?

“I should have told you from the start,” she continued, losing the courage to stare him in the eye, “about me. About my family.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Your house is better than mine.”

“Yes, I,” she stuttered, nearly laughing at what he’d said, “it’s a little larger, but that’s not the point. I’m, well, my father is — that is to say that _Hyrule_ is— ”

“ _Ya tesh hukmanaesh_.” _I understand_ , he told her, his frown flattening into a benign line.

“I don’t think you do,” she insisted as he turned to swing the telescope away from the window he’d drawn it towards.

“That,” he answered, waving his hand at the green patchwork of the world outside the tower, “out there, you own.”

“Well, yes. But.. maybe not exactly as you mean.” He tipped his shoulders again. “You aren’t angry with me, then?”

“Why would I be angry?” She felt her chest deflate.

“Because I wasn’t honest with you!”

“Is that true?” His eyes trapped her immobile. “Was it lying, or did you just not tell me?”

“What’s the difference?”

“I know very little about the world,” he admitted, sounding somewhat bashful, “because of the desert and how everything was. There are many things that you have not yet told me.”

“Well... alright.”

“But, Zelda?” Her heart, at once steadied by his tone, began to beat fast again.

“Yes?” He turned his back to her. In that moment he was strange and towering, even in his too-small tunic. She felt her breath catch in her throat. 

“Can you teach me how to read these?” He brandished a book at her. The look of him, both hopeful and somewhat apprehensive at the idea, finally broke her dread into laughter. He frowned until she nodded and, still laughing, clapped her hand over its cover.

“Yes. Of course. But I think we should perhaps start with something a bit more... religious, first.”


	5. Spring of Courage

“Link.” A cricket chirped to join the sound of her molars grinding. _You_ _must_ _be_ _joking_. Zelda knelt lower behind the garden wall. “Link,” she hissed. “Link!”

The shutters of the little farmhouse finally swung open. She saw the gold of his hair first, still mussed and wild from whatever tryst he’d inserted himself into the evening before. Her chest smoldered with fury. Of all the days for her devoted guard to test her patience, did it truly have to be _today_?

“Ze--princess!” _Don’t_ _bother_ , she wanted to snap at him; his mask of bashful courtesy had fallen long ago. Within the first year of his assignment, in fact, when she’d had the luck to stumble onto his late-night revelry in one of the capital’s more questionable quarters when she’d meant to make an escape of her own. She’d come to like him far more since she’d been made privy to his true roguish nature, but that didn’t make him any less infuriating when he found himself distracted.

“Get down here,” she ordered him beneath her breath. She heard a girlish gasp behind his shoulder before he snapped the shutters closed again. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” he begged soon after, still fumbling with the final clasp of his collar as he slipped through the door. They crawled together through the garden before finding a more proper entrance back into the sleepy morning streets.

“Do you have any brains at all?” She cuffed him at the temple. “Father has insisted that I pray today. We’ll both find ourselves at his mercy if we don’t humor him.” He pouted, his head bowed low.

“I’m sorry,” he echoed morosely. “I forgot.” She groaned.

“Of course you did.” She leaned forward, her nose nearly touching the tip of his own. “Who could remember anything with all of that swill you’ve swallowed? What did you do, bathe in it? I can smell it better now than if I were drinking it myself!”

“Come on,” he muttered. “It was just a bit of fun.”

“Honestly. If my father knew half of what you do he would have strung you up in the market years ago.”

“You wouldn’t,” he replied, the color draining from his face. His pitiful look teased her lips into a wan smile.

“Of course not, idiot. But I won’t be able to protect you if some poor cuckold finds you in his bed.”

“She wasn’t married!”

“So you’ve just stolen her virtue, then?”

“I...” he stammered, “that is to say that—”

“Enough.” She waved the distasteful topic away with the flick of her gloved hand. “In any case, I thought that you were devoted to Princess Aluto?” Link combed his fingers through his hair and frowned.

“Of course I am, but I’m not stupid enough to think that any of that matters to _her_.”

“Oh, Link,” she sighed, recognizing the crestfallen look that had flooded his features. She gripped his hand and squeezed tightly.

“It’s alright,” he grumbled. “So where is it that the king wishes you pray today?”

“The Spring of Courage,” she reported flatly, her mood souring again. Her father had tempered her home-bound lessons for two peaceful years, but he had begun to grow restless again just as the third had bloomed into spring. _It’s_ _time_ _for_ _your_ _gifts_ _to_ _awaken_ , he had told her; no matter that the same had been said to three sets of poor Zeldas before her without reward.

But of course nothing had happened, just like nothing would happen to whatever foolish girl Link had charmed in that farmhouse if she were to pray at the ancient springs herself. Still, Zelda supposed with another miserable sigh, if the worst duty she was faced with was a countryside ride with a friend (no matter how wretched he was), perhaps it was not so terrible a fate to bear.

“The Spring of Courage?” Link’s moaning question stirred her from her thoughts. “But that will take a full day’s ride!”

“I know. That’s why we should have left with the sun. Unfortunately, one of us happened to be rather preoccupied.” He shrunk beneath her gaze.

“To the stables, then, my lady.”

They found the place in question empty except for a pair of bleary-eyed stable boys busy tossing fresh hay into the stalls. Zelda hunted out her sweet white mare while Link splashed his face with water from one of the nearby troughs. Her heart sunk as she heard him laugh under his breath afterwards. _Oh_ _no_. What was he planning now?

“Don’t,” she ordered him, not taking her eyes away from her mare’s pink nose.

“What?” She turned and caught him staring into one of the far stalls.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Why not? He’ll be faster than poor old Doxos,” he told her, nodding at the stall across the way where his own dappled gelding was busy chewing a mouthful of oats. “Besides, Van says nobody owns him, so it’s not like it’s stealing, really, now is it?”

“Link,” she chided him. He grinned but otherwise ignored her. _Fine_ , she grumbled as she watched him swing open the gate; _but_ _you’ll_ _be_ _the_ _one_ _to_ _answer_ _for_ _it_.

They had all been surprised to find that the stallion tolerated the stables, perhaps Vehvan himself foremost. Zelda had a theory that the huge black beast had designs for her own mare — a thought that left her feeling rather mortified, for a variety of reasons — and so she’d endeavored to keep them separated to the best of her abilities. More often than not, however, when she stared at the stable paddocks from the heights of her room she would spot them grazing together. She wagered it was only a matter of time before a flock of foul-natured foals would grace the stables but, perhaps by luck alone, it hadn’t yet come to pass.

Vehvan had never named him, finding the practice quite absurd, but Link had been quick to christen him himself.

“Come on, you nasty Bastard,” he urged him, waving a carrot at his nostrils as he stepped backward into the yard. Zelda watched, bemused, as the stallion trailed after him with a set of thundering hoof beats. Link’s face broke into a triumphant smile. “Where is his saddle?”

“He doesn’t have a saddle,” Zelda corrected him. No names and no tack; and while Vehvan had never struggled with the absence of either, she could see a look of doubt blooming beneath the glow of Link’s ruddy-faced pride.

“Right. No matter. Alright, old boy, let—augh!” Zelda clapped her hands over her mouth as Link staggered backwards with a cry. “He bit me!” The guard felt for the spot where the horse’s teeth had clamped and drew his fingers back bloodied. “My ear! The fucking thing bit off my ear!”

“Oh!” _Well_ , _not_ _all_ _of_ _it_ , she realized with horror as she spotted the pink tip in the dust of the yard. She moved to chase after it but was steadied by the sight of the stallion’s nervous stomping. “It’s alright,” she insisted breathlessly as the beast came closer. She waved her hands palm-forward at him as he tossed his red mane with an agitated huff. “It’s alright. You’re alright. It was his fault.”

“What are you talking about?” Link cried out in horror.

“You aren’t helping,” she hissed in reply, glancing at him with a quick glare before she returned her eyes to stare into the empty pits of the stallion’s own. He watched her for a moment longer before tossing his head with a final huff. He trailed away afterwards to make a tame retreat into his stall. Zelda danced after him to shut the gate. He made no move to grind his teeth in her direction this time, already focused, it seemed, on the distant slender arc of her mare’s head.

“I told you,” she growled venomously as she stalked into the yard again, “not to do that.” Link groaned a meaningless noise back at her as he knelt to retrieve the severed end of his fluted ear.

“You have to put it back, Zel,” he begged her. Her chest froze at the idea.

“What are you talking about? We need to go to the clinic. What am I supposed to do?”

“Just — just sew it on! Come on! You can do it, you know how to use a needle, don’t you? All princesses do that sort of thing — cross stitching and the like.”

“Do we?” She asked him dryly, crossing her arms across her chest to reiterate her decision. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll take you to Lady Janna at once.”

“No, please. If we do that then Van will find out that I messed with his stupid horse.” She cocked a brow at him.

“And why would Vehvan learn something like that from Lady Janna?” Link frowned and waved his missing part at her.

“What are you talking about? They’re always together and you know she hates me, that mean old bird. Come on, please, if we don’t do it soon it might not grow back.”

She eyed him, unconvinced. They would hardly make it to the Spring of Courage at this pace. But he _would_ look less heroic missing half an ear. Her shoulders sunk as she nodded — to a triumphant cry of his own — before she urged him forward into the palace depths. It was not just her father’s wrath, however, that left her feeling uneasy afterwards.

* * *

Zelda did grace the clinic, later, but she did it alone. First she left Link in his quarters with a set of crooked stitches and a half-filled whisky bottle, satisfied that the man was not terribly worse off from her ministrations and, even better, further indebted to her. She’d been relieved afterwards to discover that her father had escaped on a countryside jaunt of his own that afternoon and, as a result, had postponed any punishment that she was owed. Now, however, she wagered she was ready to find trouble for herself again — this time in the form of bitter embarrassment if anyone were to find her hiding in the airy rafters above the clinic hall.

She’d crouched there long enough for her thighs to ache before she spotted Janna’s silver hair. Link had called her an old bird — only one of his many colorful nicknames for the woman — but the Sheikah was hardly that; no, she was young, and slender and, Zelda admitted to herself bitterly, beautiful, perhaps without an equal across the many corners and rooms of the palace and the empire beyond. She was even nearly a princess herself, the daughter of the self-styled king of the Yiga clan, and clever. She’d proven as much in situating herself there, healing the severed bonds between the bandit kingdom and the empire much as she did its people.

Zelda watched her as she waltzed between the neat tables checkered below. The beds that flanked them were all empty — it was a lucky day for the empire. She was humming. It sounded like birdsong, light and airy and pretty in an effortless sort of way. That made Zelda’s stomach sour. It grew ever more bitter as the door into the clinic opened under the press of Vehvan’s hand.

He had grown somehow taller since she had first welcomed him into the palace. Thankfully, she’d also finally managed to find a tailor to stitch together an outfit for him that matched the length of his limbs. His wardrobe was austere, full of grey and navy tunics that befit his station as a monk (invented or otherwise). On another man the flat palette would have been humbling but with his height and the broad draw of his chest he somehow made it regal. _The_ _stupid_ _jerk_.

She watched the red dot of his head as he meandered into the room. He’d grown it long, his hair, not long after she’d teased him for the jagged cut he’d worn before. Jagged because it had been his own hand to cut it, of course, she’d realized afterwards guiltily; and how difficult it must have been to cut ones hair without a mirror. Now, however, with a hundred sparkling mirrors at his disposal he wove it into a tidy design tucked against the back of his skull. She couldn’t make out the braided weave from the heights she’d hidden herself into, but she’d seen it enough to picture it clearly in her mind.

Her jaw grew tight as she heard the murmur of their voices. Of course he was supposed to be a mute, but they’d all forgotten that with time. Perhaps that should have been the end to their ruse but he was too charming for it; her father and the rest of the court had all been properly bewitched by him, and growing ever worse as his Hylian improved. Now he spoke it like the rest of them, although he preferred a pidgin mix of his own language when he was with her. At least she still had that piece of him all to herself, she thought miserably as the distance between Janna and the Gerudo grew ever smaller.

Yes, well, but so what if it did? He wasn’t any less of a man than Link was, after all, and the latter of them likely to stick himself into any properly-shaped hole. Her cheeks flushed at the idea. But Vehvan wasn’t like _that_ , was he? She peered at the duo again and felt an icy prick between her ribs as she watched Janna reach forward to touch his shoulder. _Nothing_ , she told herself, shifting her weight from one knee to the next; _it’s_ _nothing_ , _I_ _touch_ _Link_ _like_ _that_ _all_ _of_ _the_ _time_.

But then Vehvan laughed and she realized that a part of her hated him for it. When he had first come to the kingdom he hadn’t done that often; she’d thought that perhaps she alone had the charm to scare it out of him. But as the barrier of their mismatched language had finally fallen she’d come to learn that he wasn’t nearly the stern man — and hardly the naive one — she’d taken him to be. Instead he had a bold and generous humor, one that was particularly attuned to dry jokes and even sarcasm. He was more thoughtful than Link was, that was true, and infinitely better read; but he laughed often, now, and smiled, and not only at her.

 _So_ _what_? She carefully crept backwards to search out the narrow hideaway that would lead her back into the western tower. _Let_ _him_ _lay_ _with_ _every_ _woman_ _in_ _the_ _palace_ , _and_ _the_ _men_ _besides_ ; _what_ _does_ _it_ _matter_ _to_ _me_?

She had always been a miserable liar.

* * *

Dawn found them both astride their horses and with the rousing bustle of Castle Town already at their back. Link, having learnt his lesson, cantered dutifully on Doxos’ back at a neat pace behind Zelda on her mare. She tried to focus on the sound of their mounts’ clipping hooves but found it difficult between her companion’s deep-throated yawns and her memories from the night before. 

“Link,” she groaned finally. “Can’t you do that more quietly?”

“Yeesh,” he called back at her. “And here I was thinking that today I’m rather well behaved.” Well, he _had_ slept in his own bed and, to her best guess, had done so alone; so she supposed he had shown some improvement.

“Yes,” she mumbled. Link kicked his horse forward to flank her.

“What is, then? You’ve been in a cloud all morning.”

“Nonsense,” she assured him, urging her mare forward with a kick of her own. Link’s face darkened with a stubborn perseverance as he matched her pace. 

“Go on. You know you can be honest with me. Impa’s already warned me what would happen if I were to break your confidence. It involves quite a few knives.”

“And yet I would have thought that you would kept my secrets simply because you are my friend,” she drawled. His frown deepened into a pout.

“Of course you’re my friend. Listen, that sniffy attitude of yours might work on all of your court-girls but I know you better. Tell me what’s on your mind.” 

“The only one who does any work on my _court_ - _girls_ is you.”

“ _Zelda_.” She drew in a deep sigh. Fine.

“Do you,” she started, keeping her eyes steady between her mare’s flickering ears, “do you truly think that Lady Janna is interested in Vehvan?”

“The whole palace is interested in Vehvan. He’s an interesting fellow.”

“Link. You know what I mean.” He grinned.

“Do you really want to know what I think?”

“Of course I do. Out with it or let’s drop the subject entirely.” Link snorted.

“You know, you really have no sport. Fine. Of course she is, but that isn’t the proper term for it. More like he’s her favorite fetish.”

“What?”

“Oh, come on. You know what those Yiga are like. There must be more of them hiding in the city all doe-eyed for him as well, but she’s the one who’s won the prize so good on her, that nasty old witch.” Zelda wrenched her reins between her fists.

“Don’t talk like that. What has she done to you?”

“I don’t like Yiga. Any of them — they think that they can just brush away everything they’ve done by kissing the king’s ass?”

“Link!”

“Sorry,” he added quickly, his shoulders hunching. “But still. Most of them aren’t bold enough to sneak into the palace proper but there she is, preening her feathers for everyone to see. She’s up to something. Even I can see that.”

“Well,” Zelda huffed. “In any case, Vehvan is a man of the cloth.”

“You know, you don’t have to spoil _everyone’s_ fun,” Link sniffed in reply.

“I thought you just said that she is a witch.”

“Yes, well, that doesn’t have anything to do with her looks.”

“Alright. Enough.”

“Anyway,” Link prattled on, “if she were to get her little pet Gerudo then that would make him your brother, wouldn’t it? So it wouldn’t be all bad. Better to have some allies on the inside, after all.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jerek,” he answered, cocking his brow at her. _Right_. She felt her cheeks pink. _Him_. Her betrothed.

“Yes,” she managed. “Yes, I suppose that’s right.”

“I still don’t think any of that is a good idea, you know.”

“Well, a pity you were not there to weigh in on the negotiations,” she replied dryly, her mind wandering to the old stories of her betrothal. It had not been one built of romance, naturally, herself still being an infant at the time. She knew her bridegroom well enough, though, both as a boy and a man. He shared his sister Janna’s looks and his father’s name, the latter of which meant that he would lead the Yiga when the time arrived. And that time seemed soon, she’d heard, with rumors of his father’s ailing health on the rise. It was an unsettling thing to consider with her own interests in mind. 

“I agree.” He yawned again and stretched his arms above his head. “Why do you care?”

“Hm?” She glanced cooly over at him.

“About Janna?”

“Is it wrong for me to take an interest in my court?” She steadied her face as he studied her.

“I don’t know,” he answered finally. “I’m not very good at that sort of thing.”

“Right, then, well, I will leave you to your swords, sir knight, if you would please leave my affairs alone as well.”

* * *

 _What do you want from me?_ The goddess’ grey cheshire smile offered no response. Zelda frowned and squeezed her hands together more tightly. _Tell me. Please. I’m ready to listen_. She heard Link clear his throat from his post across the flooded ruins. 

_Please. I know I’m not what you’re looking for. Surely there’s someone better for the job than me._ She thought, for some absurd reason, of Janna’s handsome face. _Give them a vision, then, if you don’t want to share it with me. But don’t leave me trapped like this. I can’t manage it much longer._

A breath of wind passed through the springs and loosed a flurry of drops from the dripping ceiling.One landed, wet and cold, to slip down the nape of her neck. She shivered.

_Tell me. What do you want me to do? I’ll bring you offerings; gold, incense, blood. What is it that you desire? Give me what was promised or show them that it was never mine — either, I’ll take either, and gladly. Please. Just let me be free._

She screwed her eyes shut and waited for an answer. None came, of course — just more dripping and the scuff of Link’s heel as he fidgeted with boredom. It should have annoyed her but it made her more desperate instead. Her brow furrowed tightly. _Please_ , she insisted, _hasn’t this foolish game gone on for long enough?_

Finally there was an answer. Her blood grew cold as a sudden chattering sound filled the spring. It was loud and low and made the hairs on her arms stand on end. Her eyes snapped open with the metal draw of Link’s sword from its scabbard.

“Zelda!” She froze as she spotted the first black leg crawling down the walls of the spring. It was joined by seven others, long and spindly and covered in coarse hair; and then another set, both frightening but nothing compared to the dripping pincers that accompanied them. Spiders, but not the type she’d ever seen before; not like this, huge and hungry and seemingly limitless in their swarm.

She tumbled backwards into the spring’s pool, gasping both from the icy water and the sight of the spiders’ quick advance from the wall. If only she’d brought her bow — or a kitchen knife, even, a broken table leg — anything better than the flimsy silk of her dress. You cannot take a blade into a temple, Impa had once told her, horrified, but what would that matter if she were dead?

Luckily Link did not share the Sheikah’s piety. He moved with a quick and perfect step, his sword a dangerous glint in the air as he pared the space between her and the predators seeking her out. For all of his childish cockiness, Zelda had never once thought that his appointment had been misguided — he was exceptional at killing things.

“Outside!” He barked the order at her as the tip of his sword skimmed the shallow pool. She nodded and clamored jerkily to her feet.

 _Why is this happening?_ Her heart hammered in her ears as she stumbled towards the arched doors leading to the forest outside. A bitter dread churned at the back of her throat. _Why have you forsaken me? What did I do?_

She cried out a wordless noise as another hulking spider dropped from the ceiling to splash at her feet. Link had spotted it as well. He shoved her away from its lurching jaws with the stiff buck of his shoulder. Her head spun as she fell to her knees. He crouched before her, his body shaped into a textbook pose as he drew his sword against the spider’s thick carapace. They both gasped out in horror as the blade splintered at the pommel and scattered into the pool of the floor in a half-dozen sparkling pieces.

“Oh,” Zelda breathed. She watched in dismay as Link fell under the creature’s weight. She meant to cry out to him — to leap forward and tear at the beast with her fingers, with her teeth. Something held her back, however, like an invisible hand gripping at her collar. _Sorry, I’m sorry, oh Link, I’m so sorry._

He flailed under the monster’s spindly legs, looking almost like a spider himself as he groped the depths of the water. Her voice escaped from her chest, finally, as he swung something against the creature’s beady eyes. It howled out in anger as its black chitinous skin cracked under his strike. A split furrowed along the length of its body and folded inwards as it collapsed. The spring was suddenly filled with a screeching sound as the remaining spiders began to take to the walls — not seeking them out in vengeance but running.

“Link,” she gasped as her eyes settled on the cobalt hilt of the thing he’d pulled from the water.

“Are you alright?” He staggered towards her, falling to his knees as he reached forward to search her for hurt parts. She gripped his arms.

“ _Link_ ,” she insisted, her eyes darting to the sword he’d already abandoned again to the spring. He followed her gaze, his lips puckered with confusion.

“What? What is it?”

“Tell me,” she begged him, “tell me that you didn’t just kill that thing with the Master Sword.”


	6. The Sword that Seals the Darkness

“Princess,” Janna sighed as she brushed her bound ankle tenderly, “how I wish you would be more careful in your adventures.” Zelda crumpled the hem of her sheet between her fingers and did her best to ignore the woman’s gentle touch.

“It was nothing. Link was there to protect me. I was just clumsy.” No matter that she’d never seen such terrible monsters before. And no matter that the man in question had struck such a heroic pose while he’d slashed them down.

“I do not doubt your guard’s... _talent_ , my lady,” the woman responded, her voice suggesting that perhaps she shared the same feelings towards Link as he did for herself, “however I do wonder if perhaps it would be wise to increase the size of your retinue.”

“And why would I do that? That’s never been necessary before.” She nearly groaned asshe realized what she’d already half-confirmed. _Don’t be absurd. There is an explanation for all of it. I simply haven’t thought of it, yet_.

“Yes, of course,” Janna replied quickly. “Forgive me, princess.”

“Oh, it’s... Don’t tell me you believe that nonsense, too, Janna.” The woman blushed. It flattered her, as most other expressions did. Zelda fought to keep a flat look of her own.

“You know,” she replied, her voice turning tender as she reached to straighten the pillow behind Zelda’s head. “When I was just a little girl my father would tell me all sorts of wild stories. Tales about people living above the clouds and in the deepest parts of the sea; about children bewitched immortal in a fairy’s forest; and kings, so many kings, kings of fire and thieves and hidden realms. I knew none of it was real — just little stories to amuse me when I was being unruly.

But then I came here and met you, just a little girl yourself but already dressed in a crown, and when I first saw you with your golden hair and that air about you I realized that all of those stories were about _you_. How wonderful, I thought, then; how splendid to be a princess like that. But now I realize that it must be rather terrible as well.”

“Janna...” Zelda mumbled, unsure of just how to respond. The Sheikah smiled and shook her head.

“I’m sorry. You must hear this sort of thing all the time. What I mean to say is that... that it isn’t fair, really, is it? That you have to live with all of those stories and worse, to know how they all end. I hope you know that I am your friend, that is, and that even if it is not worth much, that I will always be here to help you.”

“Thank you,” she answered, nearly suffocating beneath the guilt of everything she’d said about the woman before. Well, but she was rather lovely, wasn’t she? _Damn you_ , she thought miserably as she burrowed deeper into her pillow; _if only you were terrible instead._

She longed to disappear entirely once the clinic door swung open to usher in a crowd of worried faces. There was her father at the forefront, a swirl of velvet and silk, and Impa behind. Her pinched expression was doubled over on Vehvan’s own face, although on him it became nearly sinister — and oh, why did he have to be there?

“F-father,” Zelda managed as Link trailed at the end of the parade, a dour look dominating him as he closed the door behind them.

“Blessed daughter,” her father replied as he swept towards her. “Oh, what a trial you have faced.”

“It was hardly that,” she insisted thinly as he sat in the chair Janna had hurriedly procured at her bedside. His hands closed hotly around her own.

“Sweet girl. Your humility nearly marks you for who you are as neatly as your deeds.”

“I did little more than fall into the water,” Zelda argued, her gaze settling on Impa’s hover over her father’s shoulder. _Don’t look like that_ , she wanted to bark at her, her tear-laden eyes nearly obscene. Her father hummed.

“Yes, well, you did do that as well, my flower. How do you find the princess, Lady Janna?”

“Quite well,” the Sheikah answered, her head bowed. “I do fear that she has a sprain at the ankle, and some bruises besides, but otherwise she is unharmed and in strong spirits, my king.”

“Excellent. Of course, we can expect no less from our hero.” Zelda’s chest fell as she watched her father wave at Link to join them. The man obeyed, if begrudgingly, his face a strange green shade.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered as he made his approach. “I failed to—”

“Nonsense,” her father barked. He clapped the broad paw of his hand against the man’s shoulder. “The empire has prayed for its champion to return and here you are, my lad. We are all together in your debt.”

“Your majesty, I,” Link stuttered.

“Father, you don’t,” Zelda joined in.

“I’m just a knight,” Link finished, his eyes darting to hers for strength.

“You do not both need to be modest,” the king drawled dryly in response. He wagged his fingers over his shoulder once more. “Come, good brother. Make an inspection of the blessed relic that this man has drawn and let us bring an end to this confusion.”

Zelda’s heart began to drum as she watched Vehvan step forward from the crowd. _No, don’t_ , she begged him silently as Link drew the sword from its scabbard at his back. She spotted the turn of Impa’s head as well. Perhaps, if they’d had more time, they would have shared a look of horror between them. But Vehvan was too quick for that. He took the sword smoothly from the guard.

Zelda grit her teeth and waited for what would come next; would the hilt turn to molten metal under his grip, burning him until he was nothing but a howling pile of ash? Or would his face grow dark and cruel and full of thunder as he bellowed out in victory?

Neither, it seemed. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt and tilted the thing from side to side. Its long blade shimmered in the light streaming through the windows from the dawn sun outside. His eyes studied the sword thoughtfully, narrowing slightly as he ran his thumb over the triforce engraved at the base of its blade and the fat yellow gem studded in its cross guard. He made a final noise beneath his breath before handing it back to Link again.

“It certainly displays all of the hallmarks of the Sword that Seals the Darkness,” he contended, his voice steady from his years of dutiful study. “And it would stand to reason that such a weapon would be hidden in the Spring of Courage.”

“And, Brother Vehvan, surely you would agree that such a sword would reveal itself to no ordinary man,” the king replied.

“Yes,” Vehvan agreed simply. “I would think that only one such man would have the right to wield it.”

“So it is settled, then. Come. Let us make a record of it.” The king stood. “We find ourselves in history already, my dear countrymen. Let us hope that it does not mean to make itself an infamous one.” Zelda smiled thinly at his proclamation. How long had it taken him to practice those lines? Surely he had waited many years to say them.

She felt Vehvan’s eyes on her as the king turned to leave them behind. _Go on, then_ , she told him without speaking, her smile steady as he dipped his chin with a hidden nod. It was only when she found herself nearly alone again, with Janna fumbling nervously with a nearby set of vials and Link busy staring miserably at his toes, that she let herself loose a warbling sigh. Impa caught it, as she did most things, and looked nearly relieved herself.

* * *

Her eyes watered as she eased herself down another step. _Damn_ , she cursed as she gripped at the stairwell’s worn railing; _come on, be brave_. Hyrule was an empire of heroes, after all, wasn’t it? So she could at the very least manage a set of stairs. 

Her ankle throbbed in contest. It had hurt less when it was still bound, but Janna’s bindings had been so tight she’d nearly tumbled with the first step. She was more nimble now that they had been torn away but the sprain also ached twice-over with each and every one of her moves.

 _Yes, well, grin and bear it, darling_ , she muttered bitterly to herself as she staggered down the next step. She’d already done plenty of that throughout the day. Not soon after her father had left her in the clinic to ink Link’s heroics in whatever history books were waiting for him, her bedside had started to grow thick with courtiers who had heard what had happened. _Surely_ , they had contended, their faces nearly euphoric, _now we can be certain that the goddess lives among us for her chosen hero to be selected from our ranks!_

She didn’t have the heart to tell them that while he might have been filled with courage at the aptly-named springs, she had felt nothing but fear. Fear and a pathetic helplessness. She doubted that Hylia had ever felt _helpless_ herself. She’d prayed, after all, and there had come the goddesses’ answer; she was nothing, in the end, other than a foolish little girl.

She could still feel the shadow of that miserable helplessness now and that was why, no matter how her ankle ached, she was determined to rustle a midnight drink from the kitchens. Perhaps more. 

It seemed that she was not alone in that regard.

“Shit,” Link slurred as he spotted her limping through the tunnel-like door. His chair squeaked against the floor as he struggled to draw his back straight to greet her.

“For heaven’s sake,” she sighed as she slung herself in his direction. “Not you, too.”

“Sorry.” She rolled her eyes and eased herself into one of the chairs ringing the table before the hearth. They settled next on the fleet of wine bottles lined in front of him.

“That’s quite generous,” she observed, noting how he’d already emptied one and was making proper progress with the next.

“Sorry,” he managed again, wincing. “I’ll pay.”

“When have I asked you to do that before?” She watched him for a moment longer before reaching forward to snatch one of the bottles for herself. “If I were to do such a thing I fear you wouldn’t have a rupee to your name. What are you doing, by the way? Even for you this seems a bit... excessive.”

“Wasn’t aware that princesses were the drinking sort,” he countered as she wrenched the bottle’s cork between her teeth. She caught herself too late; spat the thing guiltily into her palm.

“Yes, well, when a princess keeps a company such as this what could you possibly expect?” He grunted and took another drink. The sight of him hunched over the bottle made her frown. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You know.”

“Oh, come now,” she groaned. “It wasn’t your fault. Honestly. If not for you that thing would have eaten me. A sprained ankle is nothing in comparison to being _digested_.”

“Not that.” His shoulders sunk. The sight of his crumpled figure made her stomach grow tight. 

“Look,” he continued, pulling off the glove from his hand with a clumsy grip. He brandished the back of his palm at her. Her eyes settled on the neat angles of the shape glowing beneath his knuckles. “Look at this _thing_. I can’t... I can’t get it off.”

“Link,” she breathed as she took his hand gently between her fingers. She traced the shape. It was a perfect triangle, just like the divine illustrations suggested. He trembled lightly under her touch. “It’s alright.”

“It isn’t.” He pulled his hand free and buried it beneath his knee. “What am I supposed to do now? I... I’m not _him_ , Zel. I can’t do it.”

“Listen. You know how I feel about all of this. There has to be a reason why everything has come to pass as it has. Maybe it’s simply because you’re brave — too brave, sometimes. What were you thinking, running at that horrible thing after your sword broke?” He huffed a dry laugh and shook his head. “That should be proof alone that you’re still the same old idiot you’ve always been. Don’t let my father trick you into thinking otherwise.”

Link slumped forward and rested his chin against the table. Zelda took a drink and watched him, hoping that perhaps her words had found their mark. An ache burrowed deep inside her chest as he looked up to catch her gaze with a hollow one of his own.

“I won’t stop. I’ll protect you, you know, no matter what. Even if I die. But what is it? Why now? What am I supposed to protect you _from_?”

Zelda frowned and thumbed the slick mouth of the bottle. _I_ _don’t_ _know_ , she meant to tell him, but what difference would it make to say it aloud?

* * *

At least whatever they were running from wasn’t _him_. She pondered on the idea some time later, her eyes darting from her book to spy on Vehvan as he read across the table from her. The Master Sword had been forged to kill the King of Thieves, after all — not to be neatly handled by him as he made a timid inspection. Even Impa had begrudgingly admitted the same to her, although perhaps not in words; still, the Sheikah’s flushed look as Vehvan had turned the sword between his hands had been enough to finally absolve him of all of her doubts. 

It was a relief. Perhaps that wasn’t the proper term. The Gerudo’s eyes flickered up from the table. She glanced back hurriedly into the depths of her own tome.

She flipped the page and then the next before his stare became unbearable.

 _Honestly_.

She stood quickly from her chair to make another review of the bookshelves. Her breath caught in her throat as her ankle buckled. She grabbed at the back of her chair and hissed as she heard Vehvan stand from his own seat.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” she snapped, waving away his worried advance as she straightened herself again. “I simply stepped wrong. Sit down, would you?” She flinched when he knelt before her instead. 

“Really, Zelda,” he chided her, slipping into Gerudo as he did. “Didn’t Janna tell you to keep it wrapped?” She gripped at her skirts as he lifted her hem higher to seek out her hobbled limb. It was annoying, the way her chest nearly always throbbed when that woman’s name was on his tongue.

“It’s fine,” she insisted, matching his language comfortably.

“It’s nearly black with bruise,” he corrected her dryly as he steadied her stumbling escape with the wind of his arm. “Sit.”

“Vehvan,” she complained even as she complied. “Really. It’s alright.” He paced along the side of the table to collect a few things before turning back to drag a second chair beside her.

“Here,” he ordered, clapping his hands against his lap. She frowned before slowly lifting her leg to rest her heel against his thigh. She’d stepped out of her shoes when she’d first joined him in the little library. At the time it had seemed like a simple pleasure to pad barefoot against the carpets but now she felt unreasonably underdressed.

“What are you doing?” She gasped the question as he brandished a sharp letter-opener and pricked its point against the long front of his tunic.

“Did you know,” he answered her cryptically as he gripped the heather fabric and tore a long piece free, “when I lived in the desert I had two shirts. One I made from some sail-cloth I found in the western ruins and one I bought from some merchant in the pass who looked as though I meant to rob him even after I’d paid him for it.”

He draped the strip over his knee before leaning sideways to snatch something else from the table. A strip of birch wood, she realized; the same stuff he used when he was binding the spine of the books he copied under the increasingly honest practice of his profession. He placed one of the spits beside the knob of her swollen ankle and began to wind the fabric around it.

“Now,” he continued smoothly, “I have twenty-seven. What does a man need twenty-seven shirts for?”

“Vehvan,” she protested, to no avail, as he cut another section of his tunic free and bound her ankle tighter. “That hurts.”

“It’s supposed to hurt,” he told her. “At least a little. And it wouldn’t be so terrible if you hadn’t insisted on running around like you have.” She pouted. Perhaps he was right, but he certainly didn’t need to be _praised_ for it.

“Janna’s far gentler than you are.” He hummed.

“I’m sure she is.” Zelda’s cheeks grew hot.

“She’s a talent. The empire is lucky to have her.”

“It is,” he agreed. A sour taste gathered in her mouth.

“And very lovely.”

“Hm,” he answered.

“And I — ack!” She shoved her fists into the lap of her dress as he made to lift her skirt higher. “What are you doing?” He lifted a brow at her.

“Your knee is bleeding” he answered matter-of-factly. She glanced down and flushed a deeper red as she spotted a trickle of blood skimming her shin. An image of her knees, skinned and bruised from her tumble against the rough cobbles of the spring a few days prior, flashed in her mind. She must have torn the scabs loose when she’d clamored onto the shelves to reach one of the more elusive pieces of her afternoon reading.

“It’s fine,” she insisted tightly. He shrugged his shoulders and released her leg. “Honestly, Vehvan, you’re supposed to be a _monk_.”

“I’m not a monk,” he reminded her as he clipped a stray string from his shortened hem. “Have I done something to frighten you?”

“What?” She fell back into Hylian in her surprise.

“You’ve been acting very strange with me, recently,” he told her in his own accented take. It was her turn to shrug. She had not mastered the gesture quite like he had.

“Nonsense.”

“I’m not a monk,” he repeated as he stood from his chair. “But you named me one, so I’ve still done the proper reading. I’m more than familiar with the legends, you know.” He turned to replace the opener into the well of the writing set at the center of the table. “I think Link may in fact be the very man he was named after.”

“Oh, come,” she sighed. She smoothed her skirts self consciously and watched him as he meandered along the curve of the table. “You’ve been spending too much time with my father.”

“I imagine it must be difficult for him.” She cleared her throat.

“Yes,” she admitted to him quietly. “Yes, I think he’s taken it quite hard. It isn’t right. He’s a good man, you know, even wicked as he is. He doesn’t deserve to carry all of this nonsense on his shoulders just because of what some old book says.”

“I agree.” Her chest tightened. He smiled lightly at her. “The legends aren’t kind to a man of my circumstances either, you know.” _So you know about that, do you?_ She nibbled at the edge of her lip, an old habit that had made a recent resurgence despite her best intentions. “Still, even if it is all just that — a legend — the empire is hungry for it. Everyone already knows what’s happened and some might be ready to test it. _Tesh najda bila had’hara_.” _You need to be careful_.

“Alright.” Her eyes settled on the drop of her blood as it rolled to the edge of the makeshift bandage. The fabric sucked it in until it was nothing but a dark spot against the white of her skin. “Vehvan.”

“Yes?”

“Were you afraid? When my father told you to inspect that sword — were you frightened to touch it?” His lips drew into a crooked shape as he trailed the length of table back towards her again. She flinched lightly as he took her hand from its fold against her lap.

“Maybe,” he admitted. The pad of his thumb skimmed the bridge of her hand in the spot where that divine triangle had glimmered beneath Link’s skin. On hers there was nothing more than the light blue hue of a few branching veins. “For a moment. But I am not a monster, Zelda, and neither are you.”


	7. Mothers and Brides

It was a very good disguise. With her hair pulled back into a tail and dressed in a plain cotton smock she looked nearly — well, not like a peasant, there was no helping the well-bred angles of her face, but like some lowly courtier, perhaps. Zelda clapped her hands with pleasure as she inspected her reflection once more. And with that little cloak pulled over her head perhaps she would even become forgettable. 

Perfect. What a genius she was.

She turned on her heel to review the letter she’d sent a week before. The one that’d been left behind — and that she took, now, from her desk to read, although she’d nearly memorized it — had been written in a too-perfect hand. She’d barely caught her mistake before handing it off to the porter. The final version sent away had a splotch of ink and a misspelled greeting, something that she thought had been a particularly clever touch.

 _A thousand blessings upon you, Mrs. Lon_ , it read:

_My name is Kora, and I am a serving girl at the royal palace. I have made the acquaintance of your son Link, whom I now consider a close friend. Although I have not yet had the pleasure of your own acquaintance, I write to you to request a favor. Many times your son has told me of his charming childhood and, with his recent appointment, I wonder if perhaps he is a little nostalgic for days’ past. Would you perchance have the time for a visit before his duty becomes too involved? Perhaps a lunch. Nothing too complicated._

_Yours in friendship,_

_Kora_

She chewed at the corner of her lip. Perhaps her words had still been a bit too embellished. _No matter_ , she huffed as she dropped the letter back to her desk. A response had been returned to her almost immediately, written in a rounded hand that insisted a hundred times over _yes_. Zelda smiled again at the memory and turned to slip her feet into a pair of scuffed boots she’d secured from a stablehand in exchange for a dozen oranges pilfered from her breakfast table.

She slipped into the hall once she had finished her ensemble. A pair of scullery maids eyed her curiously but did not have the courage to call out. After all, it was not her first attempt at something strange. She grinned as she came upon the first of the two doors she was seeking out. He was quick to answer her knocking, as he always was.

“Are you ready?” It was a bit of a silly question. She pressed her fingers against her lips as she looked him over. Vehvan withered under her stare, reading her look too easily. “Oh, it’s not that bad,” she promised him, her voice wavering.

It was true, in a way; not _bad_ , but somehow the guard’s uniform did not suit him. She was reminded of a boy dressing in his father’s clothes — or perhaps it was the other way around.

“Isn’t this a crime?” He gestured at the drape of his epaulettes. “Impersonating a royal officer?”

“Oh,” she huffed, grabbing at his arms to drag him into the hall. “Not if I ask you to do it. Come on. I don’t want to be late.”

They took one of the old passageways — less traveled, if more meandering, than the grand hallways added from one of the palace’s many refurbishments — down to the courtyard.

“Wait here,” she told him as she eyed the rooftop of the nearby barracks. The soldiers would perhaps be less charmed by Vehvan’s outfit. “No. Fetch the horses, would you? We’ll meet you at the eastern gate.”

“Alright,” he answered, still sounding unconvinced as he turned to follow her instruction. She watched the broad square of his back as he made his retreat. A smile played at her lips. She’d borrowed a helmet for him as well, better suited for hiding his fiery hair than one of the standard berets. He gripped it at his side, now, but she wondered how he’d look with it equipped.

She forced her fist forward to knock against the barracks’ door. There was no answer. Good. Better that they were busy drilling. Link had been excused from the task himself thanks to his new ordination. Not that it was protocol, of course, or at least not necessarily; but none of them had been alive when the last hero had shown his face, so the decision had been made that special privileges seemed only right. Zelda wondered, not for the first time, if perhaps they were a little frightened of him.

“Link?” She called out his name into the empty salon inside. There was nothing there to greet her other than a series of long tables and a clean-swept floor. She summited a set of stairs next and began to trail down the hallway leading into the soldiers’ private quarters.

There. She spotted his name painted on the door at the end of the way. Her heart beat faster as she rose her hand to knock. Ridiculous. Why was she nervous? After all, she had the right to drag him anywhere and at her leisure — and what better way to use such power than to grant him a favor instead?

“Link?” Her knuckles rapped against the door. She heard something scuffing inside and a quick set of thumping footsteps.

“Zelda?” He looked tired. Her heart sunk at the way the skin had grown puffy and dark around his eyes. “What are you wearing?”

“Do you like it?” She forced herself to smile brightly at him before closing her fingers around his wrist. “Come. I’d like to ride. Will you accompany me?”

“O-of course,” he managed as she drug him into the hall. “But I need to change—”

“It’s fine,” she answered, seeing no need for him to shed his simple camel-colored tunic — after all, they would have one man in uniform in their retinue already. She did allow him to snatch the scabbard propped against the wall inside before watching him close the door. It wasn’t the one she was accustomed to. They had given it to him, she wagered — them being her father or, more likely, one of his many grey-haired cronies. The one he slung over his shoulder now was beautiful, with gold inlays over a deep navy lacquer with the goddess’ tripartite mark at the center. She wondered if it was heavy. He handled it as though it were hot to the touch, so perhaps the answer was yes — but not in the way she had first imagined.

“Where are we going?” She shot another reassuring smile in his direction as she led him out of the yard.

“Don’t worry,” she answered, quickening her pace as she spotted the curious glance of one of the guards stationed on the wall. “It’s not far. Over here.” They trotted on.

“What are _you_ wearing?” Link looked more bewildered by Vehvan’s outfit than Zelda’s own. The man smirked at him in his spot between the trio of brown-coated horses he’d commandeered. “Zelda, what’s going on?”

“It’s a surprise. Don’t look at me like that. Would you prefer this one or the mare? Look how sweet she is. She must have been one of the foals from two springs past, do you remember?” Link grumbled an answer as he stepped forward towards the middle horse. For once she was relieved that he was so very obedient.

She shared a brief glance with Vehvan before they both mounted as well. He had the look of a man riding a donkey, having left his own conspicuous stallion behind. It made her laugh.

“What?” She grinned at him before drawing her mount forward with the flick of her reins.

“Nothing. Go on, put that on.”

“Where did you get that?” Link asked the question once they were safely through the gates. Vehvan was silent behind the silver grate of his helmet. The knight glanced over at Zelda next, the pallor of his face finally warming under a crooked grin. “Where did you find a bucket big enough to fit his head?”

“It was very difficult,” she admitted. Vehvan voiced his displeasure at their teasing with a muffled grunt. “Here. Down this way.”

Link’s shoulders began to loosen as they continued on their ride. The birds were out in number that morning. Soon the locusts would begin to buzz as well, the first sign of summer looming on the horizon. She didn’t mind it — the palace was always cool, even on the hottest days, and she’d always been fond of the chilled soups the kitchens prepared when it was sweltering even at night. Vehvan favored it as well, she’d discovered in years past. Perhaps in summer even Hyrule seemed like somewhat of a home to him, or at least similar enough to the one he’d left behind.

She glanced over at him again. He was a neat rider. It hadn’t been because of her — he’d come to the palace that way, inexplicably, even though the desert was not much a place to learn how to sit oneself in a saddle. Perhaps that big beast of his had taught him the way of it himself. He certainly didn’t tolerate a meek master. Her eyes darted over to the crooked end of Link’s ear. She wondered, briefly, if Vehvan had some hidden mark himself in the shape of the stallion’s strong teeth.

“Hey,” Link suddenly muttered. His horse slowed. She smiled as she spotted a look of recognition dawning on his face. Yes, they must be close — she’d studied the maps herself the day before and, if her memory served her right, the land his father had once tilled would have started very nearly where they now stood. A sweet ache began to build in her chest as Link looked over his shoulder at her. “Where are we going, Zel?”

“Come on,” she answered, urging her mare onwards again. “We don’t want to be late.”

The surprise did not last long. Mother Lon — named Maretha, Zelda had learned from their secret correspondence — had stationed herself at the outward gates of her little ranch house. Zelda could see the shape of her as they crested the last hill left between them. Her arms were waving in welcome long before they’d circled their horses in the yard.

“Mother!” Link dismounted and had just enough time to utter the word before she’d swept him up into an embrace. She was a full head shorter than him but somehow managed to cradle him against her bosom as if he were half her size. Link’s arms craned awkwardly around her shoulders until the surprise of what had happened waned. Then they gripped the woman tight. Zelda felt a wide smile pulling at her lips.

“My boy, my boy,” the woman answered as she pulled away to inspect him. “Look at how you’ve grown. Have you been well? But how skinny you are — aren’t you eating? Oh, and what have you done to your ear?”

“Mother,” he chided her tightly. She followed his glance backwards towards Zelda and Vehvan as they slipped to their feet.

“And you must be miss Kora,” his mother continued on seamlessly. She strode forward toward her to sweep her into a hug of her own. Zelda gasped but felt herself rather melt in the warmth of her arms.

“Yes,” she answered, catching Link’s confused look over the woman’s shape and winking at him as she did; well, he wasn’t the only one who had the capacity to scheme, now was he? “Mother Lon, how delightful to finally meet you. Link has told me such wonderful things about you.”

“Has he?” The woman laughed and turned to face her son again. “I somehow doubt that — the lad has quite the mouth on him, doesn’t he?”

“Mother.”

“Although I suppose service would be good at teaching that out of him.” Her eyes swung along the length of the yard to take in the sight of her third visitor, himself busy pulling the shiny helmet from his head. A complex look flashed over her face as she spotted Vehvan; there was a flush of her cheeks, at first, and the slight twitch of her lips, the hint of a narrowing of her eyes, before another generous smile erased it all.

“This is Tarlin,” Zelda intervened before the Gerudo’s trademarked honesty ruined the ruse. “He serves with your son in the knights as well.”

“Sir knight,” the woman greeted him warmly. For a moment she made the move to hug him as well but, perhaps steadied by the size of him, reserved herself to an affectionate touch of his shoulder. “How lovely that you’ve all come here. Ah, but you must be thirsty from your ride. Come on, would you? I’ve just finished up our lunch.”

The trio followed the woman through the neat fence ringing the yard and up into the house beyond. It was a simple home, small but clean and full of the smell of the generous spread waiting for them at the central table. As Maretha hurried over to a pitcher to divvy up cups of water for them her son made a slow revolution around the room, his fingers outstretched and tracing the shape of all of the well-worn furniture inside.

Zelda watched him and wondered how many years it had been since he had last been home. It was not much of a ride from the castle walls but she knew that, for a knight like him, the journey was nearly impossible. A twinge of guilt made her eyes water.

“Please, go on, sit down. Sit down, then,” Maretha chirped, clapping her hands together to signal the start of their meal. Zelda eyed it hungrily as they made their approach. A simple cheer filled her as she spotted the long dishes full of leeks and potatoes and turnips all soft-cooked with butter and paired with a great heap of leafy greens. There was a golden-baked chicken there as well, studded with rosemary that she could smell from across the table, but she knew that the rest of it had been tailored to Vehvan’s peculiar diet — just as she had requested in one of her follow-up letters.

She’d spent some time wondering if it were polite to make the request of the woman. On one hand, she’d wagered, vegetables would have been a less expensive meal than one full of meat but, on the other it felt quite rude to request a menu from her. Still, Zelda had decided that it would be worse still to watch Vehvan pick a dish together for himself that was attuned to his particular tastes. It hadn’t taken her long to notice it herself, after all, when he had first come to the castle and she’d watched him carefully leveraging strange bites from his plates when they dined together. Sometimes he’d be left with nothing more than a few garnishes and, with the size of him, she’d known that it wasn’t because of his appetite.

She’d finally cornered him on the subject after watching him turn away a shank of venison for three stubby carrots from a less than spectacular late-autumn harvest. _Do you not like it_ , she’d asked him, already preparing a rebuke for the kitchens; _it’s not that_ , he’d answered, _just that I prefer to not eat meat_.

She’d been stupefied by the idea but charmed, later, when he’d explained that he felt unsettled killing something simply for a meal. Mostly, however, she had been annoyed that he’d kept a secret from her.

“This all looks positively delicious,” Zelda offered as she sat. “Thank you so much, Maretha. I do hope it wasn’t much of a trouble.”

“Not at all. A woman has to eat one way or another, and better to do it with company. Especially one like this.” Maretha folded her hands one atop the other and stared lovingly at her son. There was something in the way her eyes moved across his face that made Zelda certain that she’d already read everything that had happened to him since she had seen him last. Zelda followed her gaze and wondered what was at the top of her observations — had he lost the boyish curve of his face, perhaps, or was it the scar at his chin from some old training blunder the thing that caught her attention? Or was it those dark shadows under his eyes?

The room filled with the gentle murmur of their voices as they fell into their meal. Zelda basked in the bliss of playing the part of an unremarkable spectator. She wagered, her eyes flitting to watch him for a series of quick moments, that perhaps Vehvan felt the same; after all, he was nearly as much a spectacle as she was in the palace. And, just like her, he could do little to hide his look from others.

She thought again of what Link had said before — Janna’s fetish, wasn’t that what he had called him? It wasn’t much different from the courtiers idolization of her. And now Link was victim to it as well. The thought made her stomach grow cold. She cleared her throat and seized upon a lull in the conversation.

“Maretha,” she started sweetly. “Would you tell me what Link was like as a little boy?” The woman laughed as her son grew grey at the idea.

“Of course,” Maretha replied. “What is it that you would like to know?”

“Anything. We are good friends, I’m happy to say, but he never tells me anything about before.”

“Erm,” Link contested over a mouthful. He was cut short by Zelda’s sugary smile.

“Well,” his mother continued thoughtfully, “he was a devil from the day that he was born. Always crying all throughout the night even though he wasn’t hungry — just wanted the attention. And he was always in my skirts. It wasn’t that he was shy, really, but he hated to be alone. Of course, when he got a little older he was always busy scheming, finding ways to pull little tricks on the other boys — so then that was a problem, wasn’t it, dear, when you wanted to play but always chased everyone away with your naughty pranks?”

“They were just games,” Link muttered glumly. His mother laughed.

“One time he hid a bee’s nest under the seat of the alderman’s latrine. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe the idea was to chase out his son with his pants around his ankles. Because he’d caught the attention of one of the village girls, hm? But, of course, the alderman was the one to use it first and would have skinned him alive if he hadn’t been so good at climbing trees. If I remember correctly, you were up in that tree for two whole days.”

“Link!” Zelda meant to admonish him, but the image of the man perched up in the canopy was too easy to conjure and made her laugh instead.

“It wasn’t just a girl, mother, it was— never mind.” Link stabbed a chicken leg with his fork and cut into it with sawing strokes.

“Chasing girls and being chased by boys — it was luck alone that it didn’t kill you. His father was like that as well, you know. I think I was the first girl to relent to his charm, back then, but only because it was just so exhausting. He would have been so proud of you, Link.” Her voice softened. “He always was.”

“Have you been alright?” Link asked his mother the question quietly. “Out here with everything — it isn’t too much to handle?”

“Oh, and who do you think I am?” Maretha made a face at him before turning to Zelda with an explanation. “This land is mine, you know, through my father and his father before him. Harlin — Link’s father — didn’t have a rupee to his name, not at first. I was the one who made a farmer out of him... with much difficulty, might I add. Of course I can manage it now.” She glanced down into her plate with a sigh. “That being said, I’ve sold off the southern parcel some time past, now. But the rest is manageable. The boys from the village help with the harvests. I only have the animals I need for myself. That makes it easier.”

“I’m sorry.” Link’s apology weighed heavy in the air. They were all silent for a moment. “I should be here to help you.”

“Nonsense. I‘m fine, Link. Besides, you were never very good in the fields. All you ever did was hide girls out there. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“I was just a kid,” he contended, his cheeks growing flush. “But I could—”

“Link.” His mother cut him short, her voice strong but kind. “This world — my world — it’s always been too small for you. I’ve known that since you were just a little boy. That’s your father, you know, that’s his heart that’s beating on in you now. My husband,” she added, looking to Zelda again. “He was an imp, of course, but he was also a good man. I’ve never made myself out to be a spiritual woman, miss. I know that’s probably not a proper thing to say, begging your pardon, but it’s the truth. I’ve heard what’s happened, of course, and I know what they’re saying in the city but... but you are who you are because of your father, Link, and the man he wanted you to be.”

Link stared into his lap. Perhaps it wasn’t proper, blaspheming like she was to an audience like them — the goddess’ hero, and her princess, and a man proposed to be her devout follower — but Zelda was grateful for it. It was everything he needed to hear, she realized, smiling again as she glanced into a far corner where the woman’s sparse belongings were neatly stacked; not a legend but the truth.

* * *

Their lunch drew on into dinner and later, until the sun had set and lured in a flock of fireflies into the yard. Zelda and Vehvan sat together at the crest of a small hill flanking the house. Link was still inside. He deserved some time alone with his mother, Zelda had decided, after they had all made good work of a pie still warm from the ancient oven in which it had been baked. 

Vehvan had not contested the idea. She wondered if he felt caged under the low ceilings of the ranch house. She’d thought the same of the palace, once, compared to the vast emptiness of the desert; but at least the palace had tall rafters. She glanced over at him. He was staring into the stars, his weight against his elbows and his long legs cocked lazily against the grass.

“Vehvan,” she asked him finally, falling into their blended language again, “do you remember your mother?” He turned his head towards her, his face unshielded and bearing the hint of a sad smile.

“Yes,” he answered after a moment, staring upwards again. “Not well, but I remember her. I was very young. To me she was a giantess — strong and wise and powerful, and not really from this world. Your books have taught me that my people were all like that. I’m not certain if they had a choice in the matter, really. She wasn’t gentle; I don’t know if I would even say that she was kind. But I think she loved me, in her own way. There was a reason why she took me to the desert and I think that it was mercy, if not a mercy that’s easy to understand.”

“I wish... I wish it hadn’t been that way,” Zelda admitted quietly. “You didn’t deserve a life like that.”

“But it was mine,” he contended simply with a shrug of his shoulders. “And would I have found this second life without the first?”

“What do you mean?”

“Perhaps I was meant to be in that wasteland, just waiting for you to get yourself lost.” Her cheeks began to burn.

“It’s not like you to talk about fate like that,” she muttered, staring hotly at her toes. He laughed. He’d readied a response for her but the sound of it died in his throat. She looked to him again and caught sight of a stern look flooding his features. “What is it?”

“There.” He stood, his arm raised towards the ring of trees beyond the nearest neat field. “There’s something there.” She rose to her feet as well and stared into the shadows of the underbrush; yes, there, a shape, dark and loping forward with a slithering speed. The hair at the nape of her neck stood on end.

“To the house,” she quickly ordered, staggering backwards a step. They broke into a run soon after, the rolling swell of the hillside slowing their stride. She nearly stumbled to her knees as Vehvan suddenly reached forward to steady her with a tight grip.

“What are you doing?” She turned to wrench her arm free but froze at the sight of a hulking shadow in their path. It was in the shape of a man through a warping glass, his back hunched and his limbs too thin, too long. A hissing snarl pooled in his throat as he stared them down. His head — reptilian, with pale eyes that flashed in the moonlight — was something impossible, something out of a storybook meant to scare children from wandering out into the woods. Not real. It couldn’t be. “What is that?”

Vehvan answered by stepping forward to shield her from the creature’s cold gaze. It was a brave and stupid move. As towering as he was he was a scholar, not a soldier, and without a weapon between them to brandish at the beast. The creature lurched towards them all the same. Zelda gripped at the fabric of Vehvan’s jacket and grit her teeth.

 _No. It can’t end like this_. There was no dignity in a death like this. It was worse, even, than disappearing into the desert or being wrapped in a spider’s silk. She could see nothing but the shadow of Vehvan’s back but she could picture the long teeth of the creature perfectly. They would be sharp, a predator’s teeth, made to rend and tear.

 _Please_ , she prayed, a flood of images from her books flashing through her mind; pictures of blonde women, their heads all bowed reverently as they were surrounded by a blessed light. _Please, help me_. She’d thought the same in the Spring of Courage, but that afternoon had exhausted her supply of heroes. Vehvan may not have been a villain but he was just a man.

_It’s time. Please. I don’t want him to die._

The goddess replied by manifesting a second wicked creature beside the first. It barked a grating noise at its compatriot. She felt Vehvan stiffen, heard the thudding of the beasts’ clawed feet tearing against the field.

_Link._

_Impa._

“Vehvan!” The monstrous creatures were closer still; she could hear the whistle of their breathing through the slits of their nostrils. Vehvan tugged free from the vice of her grip to step forward. A chill filled her as she watched him raise his bare hand in their direction. She realized that she had seen him do the same before, years ago now, when they had still been in the desert and had come upon a pack of scrabbly coyotes near the oasis. The curs had bared their fangs at him but he’d steadied them with a stern gaze and soon after they’d tucked their tails between their legs and slunk away.

 _They’re just animals_ , he had told her then; _show them that you are not prey and they will obey_. But the lizard-headed creatures hunting them now were not animals, they were _monsters_ , so what was he doing now?

One of the beasts made a clicking sound. She heard the crunch of dry grass as it paced. The second cried out with a shrill voice that echoed into the night and made her ears ring. Vehvan reached back with the arm left hanging at his side and felt for her. She grabbed at his hand like a lifeline.

“It’s alright,” he told her as the creatures suddenly loped past. Their eyes, wide and bestial even in the gloom, settled on her with a blunted interest before they were gone. She turned to watch them go and saw that the shadows at the tree line had already disappeared.

“Vehvan... what did you...” There was something unfamiliar in his face. It left her groping for the right words. “My father,” she managed haltingly. “We need to tell my father.”

He nodded. First the spiders in the spring and now this — even she knew that it was a harbinger of something dire. She had heard wild legends about outlandish creatures prowling in the outskirts of the empire, of course, as much as any other; but Hyrule proper had not been threatened by anything worse than roaming bandits and wolves for over two hundred years. She shook away her bewilderment to stride towards the house again. Vehvan followed at her heels.

* * *

The king’s face was difficult to read. He was a master of masks, she’d realized young; able to smile when he was furious and laugh when he was sad. Now he looked upon her with indifference, but she knew him well enough to understand that he was worried. 

“And you’re certain of what you saw?”

“Yes, Father,” she insisted, balling her fists at her side. “I could not make a proper count of the ones in the distance but there must have been a dozen of them, if not more.” Her father sighed.

“And you say you were a half-days’ ride from the palace?”

“Yes, and less, even.” He pinched his nose between his fingers. She watched him as he stared silently into the clean-swept marble of the floor.

“Very well,” he answered finally. The long drape of his cloak cracked as he stood from his seat. “It is time, then. I feared as much when the goddess bestowed our hero with that ancient sword.”

“Time? For what?”

“For war.” His eyes settled on her. For once they were honest; full of doubt and a simple sadness that made her chest seize. He looked old. “We must rally the kingdoms immediately. No doubt that they will soon be set upon by these creatures themselves. First, however, my daughter, it is time for you to do your duty.”

“Father,” she countered with a wavering voice, “I’ve tried. Please. You must... you must understand.” She felt her own barriers against him breaking. “I’ve prayed and begged and yet the goddess has... She has not taken pity on me.”

“I know.” He stepped across the throne room’s red carpet to rest his hands on her shoulders. “I know, my child. But that is not of what I speak. If it is strength that we require in the days to come, then there is only one place from which it can be drawn. It is time to bring the Yiga into the fold.” Her mouth grew dry.

“Father. I don’t—”

“Zelda.” His voice was strong — not chiding, perhaps, but clear in its demand to be obeyed. “Did I not defer to you yourself in confirming the match?”

“Yes, Father,” she murmured, casting her eyes to her feet. Her betrothal had been suggested the moment she had been born, a convenient opportunity to close the breach between the empire and the bandit kingdom of yore, but it had not been inked until her sixteenth birthday when the young Yiga prince had made a visit to the palace so that she could make a more proper introduction. She’d found him handsome and kind and well spoken — nothing like the wicked rogue he had been rumored to be. It had been easy to agree to the match, then; after all, eventually there would be a suitor she would have to submit to, and better that it be both politically advantageous and even personally convenient.

 _But now_.

“I will send a rider in the morrow to inform them of what is to pass. No doubt they will be eager to make good on our agreement as well. We must go about it quickly if we are to move their people into the capital before this matter becomes worse. Ready yourself, daughter.” He studied her for a moment. His face softened; became unusually plain. She frowned as his fingers tightened. “He will not be cruel. I understand that he is a rather simple man, if not simple minded. Perhaps with time you will come to love him; and, if not, I am certain that you will respect him, as he will respect you. It is a proper match.”

“Yes, Father,” she relented quietly. He nodded and released her. She bowed her head, and turned, and made a quick escape from the room.

She woke the morning after to a storm; both outside, the sky already dark with purple storm clouds, and in the halls surrounding her room, all buzzing with the gossip of what had come to pass. The weight of it left her trapped beneath her blankets. What would she do? What _could_ she do? And was it truly war and, if so, against whom?

The only answer she found was in the flash of lightning and the booming clap of thunder outside.


	8. What You Mustn't

Impa had been Zelda’s retainer for as long as she could remember — and for longer, if she were to believe all of the Sheikah’s stories of her time doting after her mother as well. In all of that time, little about the woman had changed. Her face, perpetually drawn into a stern grimace even on her kindest days, had the same lines it’d been traced with when she‘d been a little girl. She wasn’t young, really, but neither was she old. It would have been a peculiar happenstance if not for how peculiar everything drawn into the princess’ orbit seemed to be.

On the other hand, her resolute personality made it very easy for Zelda to read her moods.

That morning she was upset. Her lips were puckered into a sharper shape than usual and she’d only managed to send fleeting glances in the princess’ direction as they worked together to prepare her things for her upcoming tour. It was perplexing. Impa had always been eager to submit to her father’s plans, and doubly invested in advancing Zelda’s passage through to womanhood and the dawning of the responsibilities she was so convinced were to come to pass, so what about her upcoming nuptials had soured her mood?

Zelda had been lacing their idle chatter with leading questions to puzzle it out since the Sheikah had first knocked at her door. They‘d garnered little more than halfhearted hums and grunts. The duo was halfway finished with folding a fleet of silken scarves before the princess grew tired of the game.

“Impa,” she started flatly, “what is it?”

“Princess?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” the woman replied quickly, her eyes darting to the powder blue skirt in her hands.

“I hate it when you lie to me.”

“I would never lie to you.” Impa flattened the skirt against her stomach and straightened to look into her liege’s eyes. “I swear it to Hylia herself.”

“Then tell me what’s bothering you. Please. You’re making me feel uneasy.” Impa sighed. She was mulling over her options, Zelda noted sourly; what on earth was she so worried about? Finally she relented and turned to lay the skirt across a nearby dressing table.

“I do not think that it is right that we bring that monk of yours along with us to Kakariko.”

“Impa,” Zelda groaned, her stomach filling with a frustrated fire. “How can you still distrust him after all of this time?”

“It has nothing to do with him,” Impa insisted with an uncharacteristically mild tone. “But rather... Your father the king must ensure that the kingdoms are tightly aligned if we are to be faced with war. Certainly I understand the notion, and respect that he wishes to build a wall out of our people so that they may be protected in whatever is to come. However, I find it rather distasteful to... to use a man as a tool, do you understand?”

“Not really,” Zelda admitted with the curve of her brow. “You think my father means to use Vehvan in some way?”

“Most certainly. He would not have welcomed him into your circle so easily if he had not. Naturally, at first I opposed the idea on the principle itself, but I will admit that this — that Brother Vehvan has proven himself to be relatively trustworthy. I, of all people, must commend his commitment to the goddess, after all.”

“So what is it, then?”

“The Yiga are my fore-brothers, princess, as you know — and so I know their nature well, although even those who are not of Sheikah blood would know it, too. Jerek, that man who calls himself king,” she spat the word as she conjured the image of Zelda’s future father-in-law, “has more to gain from your marriage to his son than our king does in many ways. Of course, a marriage is better than a war, particularly if we are to have a second one already brewing — and yet your father is not a man to be kept at a disadvantage. I believe he means to use the good brother as a threat.”

“A threat?” It seemed an absurd idea, even with the impressive image he cast with all of his height and broad shoulders; after all, she’d known him to harm little more than those horrid locusts he’d once fed her before.

“Yes,” Impa contended more boldly. “The Yiga are no more than a boorish cult, princess, and at its heart is their worship of the Bandit King their forefathers once served. Your Vehvan may not be the man I once took him to be, but he is still the image of him, isn’t he? And if he has aligned himself with Hyrule, then how can King Jerek possibly imagine himself superior to your father if the last Gerudo bows to him himself?”

“I see,” Zelda replied. Impa pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

“Of course, it’s hardly the most despicable thing to be done, particularly in times like these. Still, it makes me wonder — if Vehvan were to wish to leave the kingdom one day, to seek out the freedom he once enjoyed, what would be your father’s answer?” Zelda’s chest pinched tight. She’d known the answer to Impa’s question since the day she had first brought the man to her doorstep. What good was it to mutter it aloud now?

“Princess,” Impa continued, her voice growing softer as she reached out to brush her arm, “I don’t mean to condemn your good intentions. Certainly he seems content with his station, and I cannot imagine the agony of a life alone, particularly not one in that hell he made a home. Only that with every step we take there is a consequence and, more often than not, a compromise as well.”

“Yes.” Zelda frowned and stared into the pile of fine silks they’d gathered. And in a world like that, what compromises would she be forced to make?

* * *

They left three days later in the dead of night. It was cooler at that hour, although even under moonlight the heat of the royal entourage’s torches was nearly unbearable. Zelda gripped the horn of her saddle tighter to stop herself from fainting into the road. She was thankful for the dark, which at least hid the color of her face — sometimes a blanched pallor from her nerves and, in other moments, a dark red born from a mixture of frustration and embarrassment of what was to come to pass.

Their first destination would be Kakariko, where her bridegroom would welcome her and signal the official start of their marriage rites. She’d heard that the standard Sheikah practice was to consummate the affair in that very moment, but thankfully her father’s pride — and his designs to unify the empire — had intervened. Their time in the mountaintop enclave would be limited to feasting before they continued on to tour through the remaining kingdoms on their return to the capital city. The scions of the great houses would join the retinue as they passed through and would serve as her honor guard when they finally arrived back in Hyrule for the formal and final ceremony in the ancient ruins of the Temple of Time.

While Zelda found some consolation in the idea of being reunited with her dear friends Princess Aluto and the brothers Timri and Godi of Death Mountain, the long journey ahead was still terribly daunting — and doubly so with the idea that soon Prince Jerek (as he shortly would be known) would be the one to ride beside her in place of her stalwart guard.

Her eyes drew from Link’s shoulders over to the dark shadow of Vehvan trailing at the haunches of her mare. The file of their advance was full of proud steeds donned in the empires’ finery, but all of the horses were fearful of his broad-chested stallion save her own. They left him a wide berth in the parade and, to be honest, she savored the bubble he’d unwittingly created for them both. Her mind wandered to how silly he had looked in his stolen knight’s outfit. She wondered next if her future would have the space for their childish games.

“What is it?” He’d caught her stare. She flushed and stared into the rich leather of her saddle.

“Nothing.” She heard the deep rumble of his unconvinced hum as he kneed his horse closer to hers.

“Tell me about where we are going,” he asked her in Gerudo. The crisp, familiar lilt of the language was a welcome sound. 

“Kakariko,” she told him without protest. “The home of the Sheikah. It’s hidden deep in the mountains of the Dueling Peaks. Kakariko is the smallest of the kingdoms, but also the one with the closest ties to the capital and the crown. It’s where Impa was born.”

“Are they all like her?” Zelda laughed at the tilt of his voice.

“Not really. But you would know better — Janna is a Sheikah as well.” Zelda ignored the pinch between her ribs as she mentioned the woman, who was herself not so many paces away. Vehvan shrugged his shoulders.

“As you know,” Zelda continued stiffly, “Janna is from a tribe within the Sheikah who call themselves the Yiga. They split apart from Kakariko many years ago, but have since largely reunited. Her father serves as the vice chancellor of Kakariko, but the chancellor is — well, he’s rather old, and doesn’t have the Yiga behind him, so he’s really only their leader in name.”

“And Lady Janna’s brother?”

“Her brother — Jerek — he... I don’t know,” she stuttered hotly. “I don’t want to talk about him.” She found it difficult to read the Gerudo’s face in the gloom.

“After this place, then,” he offered, “where are we to travel next?”

“The kingdom of the Zora,” she answered with a half smile. “And then to Death Mountain and the free cities before we double back to Hebra and then home. I wonder which one you will like best. I don’t know how we’ll stand the heat in any of them, to be honest, although I suppose you’ll manage better than the rest of us.”

“Which do you prefer?”

“Zora’s Domain.” Her smile broadened at the thought of the glittering jewel tones of the aquatic holdfast. “Princess Aluto — the daughter of Chancellor Sidon — she is my oldest and dearest friend. Oh!” Her smile turned into a grin. “And the object of Link’s deepest affection.” Vehvan looked in the knight’s direction. “To little avail, I’m afraid.”

“Really? I thought he was rather skilled in that arena.”

“Too skilled,” she answered dryly. “But even he cannot defeat that sort of thing. The rules, you know. Nobility.” He nodded.

“I see.”

“So we mustn’t be too cruel to him,” she continued matter-of-factly, “at least until he’s deserved it.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “What a terrible thing.”

“Hm?” She glanced over at him again. His eyes were bright against the dark tones of his face.

“To love outside of your means.” Her cheeks grew hot. It was strange to hear him talk about something so delicate in place of their usual banter.

“I suppose,” she mumbled in reply. “We have little control of it, really, you know. We’re all born into whatever role we must play, and everyone else with their own fate ready to draw them in their own directions.”

“Is that what you believe?” She shrunk under his stare. _No_ , she wanted to answer boldly, but she couldn’t find the breath.

* * *

Vice Chancellor Jerek and his son, who shared his name, were both ready to greet them with the dawn at the gates into Kakariko. She wished that they’d had the foresight to let them slip into their lodgings, first, but of course that, most likely, was their plan; to catch her father and the rest of their retinue dusty and road-weary while the two Jereks were dressed in clean, well-pressed clothes. She did not miss the haughty look scrawled across the elder Jerek’s wiry features as he knelt low to greet them.

“My king,” he began, his voice reedy and too thin for his frame, “a thousand blessings upon you, and unto our humble village, of which you have deemed worthy to grace.”

“Vice Chancellor,” her father replied nicely. “Lord Jerek,” he added, nodding at the younger man similarly crouched. “How pleased I am to find you both well at this most auspicious time. Stand, would you, so that I can look upon this man I will call son!”

The younger Jerek complied. He’d grown more serious looking since she had seen him last. Back then he had worn his hair long and shaggy and, she’d noticed in their short time together, had a penchant for hiding behind his bangs. His silver hair was shorn short and tidy, now, which suited his features better — if leaving his unusual crimson eyes unveiled. Despite the well-tailored angles of his severe ensemble and the commandeering height to which he’d grown those eyes still flickered timidly at her father’s feet as he stood.

So perhaps he had not changed that much, truly, after all.

“Your majesty,” her bridegroom muttered. The light tone of his voice made his father grimace and her own break out into laughter.

“My boy,” he promised him as he strode forward to clap his shoulder, “you’ll have to do better than that. Come, show me this kingdom of yours. Is that poor chancellor still alive?”

“Yes, your majesty,” the vice chancellor answered as he hovered to follow after her father’s wake. She faltered in her saddle, surprised by the lack of fanfare surrounding her own arrival. So maybe Impa was right — was this all nothing more than another war preparation?

“Princess,” a benevolent voice called out. She glanced down at her elbow to spot the young Jerek’s approach. He’d mustered the courage to stare into her face as he greeted her. How very much like his sister he was; she smiled lightly despite herself, taken aback by how easily he settled into his handsome looks. Although she’d never known him well, she’d always understood that he was humble about it which, of course, only heightened the effect. It left her feeling slightly unsettled, although she wasn’t certain if it was pleasant or not.

“Lord Jerek,” she answered, offering him her hand as she moved to dismount. “It has been a long time.”

“Yes, your grace; and each day I have counted until this very one.”

“Have you?” She maintained her smile despite the suspicion that he had rehearsed the line before. His pale cheeks grew somewhat flush as he took her elbow to escort her through the gates.

“O-of course. I hope our reunion does not disappoint you?” She meant to chastise him for saying something better suited for a blushing maiden in one of her childhood books, but was steadied by a sudden look of surprise that had swept over his features. She traced his gaze into the midst of their dismantling retinue. Vehvan was at its center, busy offering a split half of apple to his stallion. The great beast crunched it happily as he settled the wild mess of its bright mane.

“You...” her bridegroom continued breathlessly, his eyes darting back to hers. “I did not realize that you...”

So Impa’s theory had been correct.

“That is my tutor, the good brother Vehvan. Of the Gerudo,” she added thinly in the hopes of dispelling his bewitchment as quickly as possible. “He serves as my spiritual advisor.”

“Of course. My sister has written to me about the good brother, naturally,” Jerek managed, clearing his throat. “And yet I suppose I did not fully believe her. What a wonder that after so many years you would find a man like him.” His bewilderment was grating. She frowned and looked away.

“Yes, well, he rather found me, to be honest with you. Come, would you like me to introduce you to him?”

“Oh, no, he looks quite busy, doesn’t he? And your grace must be exhausted from your ride. Please, if you do not find it too forward, I would be pleased to show you to your quarters.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “And no further, of course, my princess. Rather, I would be pleased simply to have some time to—”

“Have you already forgotten your manners, brother?” Janna’s birdsong voice cleft his stuttering short. He shrunk into his shoulders at her approach, his face a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance.

“Dear sister,” he managed glumly, “how pleased I am to see you well.”

“Yes, yes, father has already said as much,” she tutted as she came to Zelda’s side. “Don’t be so eager, little brother. You’ll have time enough with your bride. Go attend to your king. I will be happy to accompany her grace to her rest. I imagine the princess will be given the willow house for her use, yes?”

“Yes,” he grumbled. Janna shined a disarming smile in his direction.

“Lovely. I do hope you enjoy it, princess; it is certainly my favorite. If it would please you?” She nodded towards the gates. Zelda felt a prick of amusement twitching in her chest at the bitter look her brother sent her.

“Thank you, Lady Janna. Until this evening, my lord.”

“Your grace,” Jerek answered, bowing neatly at the waist as she made her escape.

Zelda followed Janna quietly through the village’s rising bustle. Flocks of girls with flowers in their hair had gathered to catch a glimpse of her and, having succeeded, tossed bouquets more at her feet as she passed. It was a peculiar experience after having lived so simply in the capital, where her daily ambling had made her a regular sight for the city folk who were more like to offer her a smile or a simple nod than anything more grand. Janna smiled nicely at them all, but Zelda caught the slightest hint of a grimace as they made their way towards a hedge-walled garden at Kakariko’s heart.

“Through here, your grace,” Janna offered as she swung open an ornate gate. A grand willow tree was waiting for her inside and, below the heavy curtain of its boughs, a little house beset with glittering windows on all sides.

“Beautiful,” Zelda breathed, her eyes falling to the placid pools checkering the yard outside the house. She spotted the flash of golden fish swimming just beneath the surface.

“Yes. I find Kakariko to be quite suffocating, to be honest; but I have always loved this place.” Janna danced forward to peek into the windows. “Ah, yes. Your Impa is inside, no doubt hunting out any ghosts. Let us sit in the gardens until she’s finished.”

“Alright,” Zelda answered, unsure of how else to respond. She was exhausted, and doubly so by the idea of facing the woman’s perfect smile — but after her heroic act of saving her from her too-earnest brother, she felt that she at least owed her some company. They walked together to a bench hidden in the willow branches. A sleepy silence followed them. Zelda’s eyes began to grow heavy as she listened to the chirp of the cicadas above their heads.

“Princess?” Her chin bobbed as she glanced over at the woman.

“Yes?” Her cheeks grew hot at having been caught drowsing.

“Would it be alright if I spoke plainly with you?”

“Of course,” she replied, a grim weight settling over her shoulders. “What is it?”

“You see, I... I love my brother, as any sister must. He is a good man, if not more than a boy most times. I have no doubt that he will be a doting partner to you, and an honest one as well. However, my father... My brother has always wanted for nothing more than his approval. You might have guessed that I don’t share the sentiment, having made my place in the capital as I have. And my father is an ambitious man. Ambitions very rarely kindle a gentle soul, you understand.”

“We all have our ambitions,” Zelda countered uneasily.

“Yes, of course, your grace,” Janna amended. “You’re right. And naturally I have my own, as many other of my people do — to serve the royal family, and to serve you.”

“That’s very kind.” She felt trapped beneath the woman’s scarlet gaze. And how was it that she had served her, before? The woman had been little more than a silver ghost hidden at the edges of her daily life, and conjured only when she’d been clumsy enough to hurt herself.

“But my ancestors did not share my same devotion, you understand.”

“Lady Janna,” Zelda sighed, fighting the urge to rub at her eyes. “I know that you do not know me well, but one thing that I’d like you to learn — as we become sisters — is that I care little for anything that’s happened in the past. My forefathers have done as many cruel things as yours, I’m afraid. Our legacy is not one I’d wish to measure either of us against.”

“Perhaps. And yet I’d still like to be frank with you, you grace, and to beg you to be careful.” Zelda frowned. Janna mirrored the gesture, perhaps frustrated by the princess’ lack of interest in playing along.

“Careful? Of what?”

“Of my father — and of what he’ll pressure my brother to do. You’re stronger than he is. I have no doubt of that. And, like I’ve said, he is not a wicked man himself. But you mustn’t leave him to his own devices. He’s like a dog, really, you know — loyal and sweet but prone to mischief when he’s left alone.”

“I... I don’t know what to say, my lady.” Janna smiled and leaned forward to sweep her hands between her own.

“You needn’t say a thing. Just promise to at least consider what I’ve said, would you? And everything as well — not just about my brother, but about myself as well. I am dedicated to you. I may not be a warrior like your hero but I may have my uses all the same. All you need do is ask.”

“Thank you,” Zelda answered stiffly, pulling her hands free. Janna maintained her cheshire smile even as the princess rose at Impa’s call and left her behind.

* * *

Zelda slept through the afternoon and was still drowsy when she was roused to prepare for the first of many dinners to come. This one would perhaps be the worst, she wagered; the initial toast to her marriage that would undoubtedly require her to be at her most well-behaved. She wanted nothing more than to fling herself into the cool pools outside her borrowed rooms but instead found herself seated before a mirror as Impa wound her hair into tight knots.

“Come,” she groaned as the woman tugged harder. “That hurts, Impa.”

“Be still.”

“Impa. I don’t understand why I have to be made into some ridiculous doll.”

“Surely you know better than that.” She stared wearily into her reflection. Generally her handmaidens were more gentle in the art of her boudoir, but it seemed that only the well-muscled Sheikah had the skill to replicate the ornate hairstyle that had adorned each noble woman’s wedding portrait since the day they had first lined the palace halls. It was a severe look full of strange angles and knobby buns. The coup de grace was a net of ice-clear stones that was to be thrown over the top. Zelda thought that it made her look like a clutch of oysters ready to be devoured.

It wasn’t to her taste, of course, but none of this nonsense was. 

“Impa,” she started again after perfecting a sharp glare.

“Yes, princess?”

“How well do you know Lady Janna?” Impa steadied her work to stare curiously at her reflection.

“Fairly well. I knew her as a little girl and have worked closely with her, since.”

“And do you take her to be an honest woman?”

“An honest... What is it? What’s happened?”

“Nothing.” Her cheeks grew pink at her stumbling inquiry. “Nothing. Forget it.”

“Has she said something to upset you?”

“No, Impa. It’s nothing like that.”

“You are to marry her brother,” Impa replied, as if Zelda had somehow managed to forget. “And she’s always been very protective of him. Perhaps she’s said something that has made her appear jealous?”

“No, Impa.”

“No, I wouldn’t imagine so,” the woman agreed as she began to tug at her hair again. “She is so smitten with you.”

“With me? Why?” Impa cocked a brow at her.

“Why, because it is in our nature.”

“But she isn’t like you.”

“And what do you mean by that? That she is young and lovely?”

“No,” Zelda groaned with a roll of her eyes. “Drop it. Let’s not talk about it any longer.”

“Because she is a Yiga?” Zelda frowned but did not reply. Impa sighed. “I will admit that I was wary of her at first as well, even though I’ve known her since she was in swaddling clothes. It’s one thing to be the darling of Kakariko and quite the other to be a Yiga in the capital. But you are to marry one of them, and for a reason, you know, so I would suggest that you perhaps become more accustomed to the idea.”

“Thanks, Impa,” Zelda replied dryly.

“I do not like her father,” Impa offered with her usual candor, “but his children are of a different stock. Their mother was a kind woman, bless her, and set them in the right direction before she died. Don’t think that I would have supported this match otherwise, hm?”

“Yes. Alright. That’s quite enough. And with the hair as well. Help me with my dress, would you, and let’s get on with it already.”

Impa frowned but nodded and released her to hunt out her clothes. Zelda stared into her lap and wondered what it meant if Janna had been honest with her, truly, earlier that afternoon.

* * *

The dinner proved to be nearly as arduous as their eastward ride. It seemed as though the entire kingdom of Kakariko had been crammed into the long hall that had been converted into their dining room. They filled the rafters with a buzzing voice that quieted only when her father spoke and grew nearly deafening when he didn’t. The only one who hadn’t been invited was Link, to her chagrin. Her usual dining partner had been relegated to a post at the door. It was ceremonial more than anything, she figured, as most everything else was — it would take a fool to plot an assassination in a city full of assassins with such an unusual commitment to the crown.

She quickly lost count of the courses they were offered but all of them featured fresh, delectable things that she might have enjoyed under different circumstances. Mostly, however, she busied herself by avoiding Jerek’s bashful gaze and with the worry of what Vehvan had managed to eat between all of the greasy shanks and plump roasts that had made up their extended menu.

The Gerudo had found himself seated at the vice chancellor’s left hand, perhaps an unearned honor for someone like him if not for how hungrily the man had been watching him since they’d first arrived. She wanted nothing more than to rescue him from the man’s clutches but, of course, she had little sway over such things.

In any case, she admitted as she watched him now, for all of the creatures he had chased off the vice chancellor did not seem to be so terribly frightening. Vehvan was listening to something the older man was saying but his posture was stiff, like a boy being chastised during his lessons who had already forgotten his charge. She wondered if he’d feigned a sudden loss of his Hylian language skills. The theory made her grin.

The expression faltered on her lips as he looked suddenly in her direction. Perhaps she’d overestimated his endurance — he looked a little tired. It was a strange expression for him to wear. She felt her chest begin to ache as Impa’s concerns echoed in her ears. How terrible she had been to turn him into what she had. A pet, really, no matter what she preferred to call him. Certainly he had not found his faith despite how studiously he had set himself upon the role she’d given him, so what had been his reward? A bed and meals, yes, just like a hound with its choice kennel. And what would the future hold for him? Would he tutor her silver-haired children as well — tell her daughter that she was some goddess herself, when both of them knew that it was nothing but a dangerous hoax?

She wondered if he would hunt Janna out after the dinner. Perhaps _she_ was his consolation prize. And she was a prize, wasn’t she, as unsettling as she was? In that moment Zelda had the queer feeling that the dinner wasn’t much in her honor at all but theirs — the prodigal princess returned with a king torn from their history books. Her eyes darted to her father.

And was that perhaps what he had planned all along?

“Princess.” She was startled from her musings by Jerek’s quiet voice.

“Yes?”

“Would you like to step outside for a moment? Perhaps for some fresh air?” He’d stood from his seat and somehow made his way to her side. It seemed as though they had both been forgotten in the dinner’s rising mirth. She wanted to reject him but something in the way he looked at her cut her short. She nodded instead and stood, steadying herself as he turned her towards the airy patio outside.

“Thank you,” she told him as the noise fell away behind them. She realized that she was, for once, being honest with him. He smiled and bobbed his head at her as they came to stand, side-by-side, at the railing rimming the deck.

“This sort of thing is all really... quite terrible,” he admitted to her. He’d been drinking — like they all had, herself included, not to the point that it had really changed her but enough to fully mire herself in her gloomy mood. For him the spiced wine had chased away a bit of his trepidation, it seemed, and given a ruddy flush to his cheeks that was not entirely unbecoming. “For me, at least.”

“Yes,” she agreed with a smile of her own. “Although I suppose we shall have to be brave. Our future is full of dinners.”

“I’m afraid you’re right. Perhaps one day our fathers will at least allow us mastery of the guest list.”

“That doesn’t seem likely,” she replied dryly. He laughed.

“They are rather cut from the same cloth. I think you’ve managed it better than I have. My sister tells me that you live quite the life for yourself in the capital.”

“Does she?” She smirked. “And what else has your sister told you about me?” The red of his cheeks darkened, but the wine had bolstered him enough to respond.

“She’s told me that you are a fine rider, although you are known for pushing your horse a little hard. That you spend hours in the libraries and know a map better than even the men who draw them. That you do not attend worship nearly as often as one would suspect for a princess of Hyrule.”

“Alright,” she interjected, “I don’t need you to lecture me about that as well.” He raised his palms at her in defeat.

“I’m hardly the man to lecture you on anything, your grace. It’s just that I want you to know... It’s important, I think, that you understand that I do not mean to change the life you’ve made for yourself. Rather, I’d like to simply... to do what I can to make it, I don’t know, as meaningful as possible.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “We don’t know each other well. I have the feeling you know less about me than I do you, and I hardly know the type of man that interests you. I understand that it’s possible that I’m not that man at all. But what I can promise is to be kind, and faithful, and to support you in whatever direction you choose. And I think that, together, we can be something good for the empire — in the capital and in places like these.”

“Jerek,” she replied, her pulse quickening as she tried to muster the proper words, “of course. I’m sure of it. As we come to know one another better, I’m certain that we will become...” Her voice faltered. _Close_ _friends_ , she’d meant to say, but she’d caught herself before she’d doomed him with the words. He seemed to sense it all the same and offered her another smile.

“You know,” he told her as he leaned his elbows against the railing and stared up into the starry sky, “I was being honest, earlier, although I think I made a mess of it. From the day that my father first told me we were to be married I have been waiting for this one to come. Maybe you’ll find it embarrassing, but I’ve always been quite taken with you. I hope that perhaps one day you’ll feel the same but, even if you don’t, I think it will be enough for me to simply be at your side. In whatever way you wish. So.” He pushed back from the railing and clapped his hands. “I think I’ve made enough of a fool of myself for one evening. I’ll see you back inside.”

“Jerek,” she repeated, watching him as he stepped back towards the doors. There was something hopeful in his face as he turned to look at her. The look of it made the words falter in her throat. “I... I’m tired. Tell them that I’ve excused myself, would you?”

“Y-yes. Of course.”

“Thank you. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, princess,” he managed before she’d turned. Her heart was drumming in her ears by the time she’d hunted Link out in his spot at the bottom of the porch stairs. She scared a village girl from her spot beside him as she made her approach. The pretty creature twittered a string of niceties and stumbling apologies before she disappeared into the night.

“You are the worst,” Link groaned as he stood to face her. “Just when I’d — what is it?”

“Nothing,” Zelda insisted with a sniff as she strode past him stiffly. “I’d like to go to bed.”

“Alright.” The night was quiet except for the murmur of the dinner they were leaving behind and the metronome of his scabbard clacking against his back. She tried to focus on either instead of the growing roar inside her head. “What is it? Zel? Hey! What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” She spun on her heels to bark the word at him, her chest falling as she realized that the tears she had been so desperate to hide had begun to spill against her cheeks. He gaped back at her in surprise. She huffed a desperate noise and rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m just tired. Just take me to my room, would you?”

“Of course.” He frowned and stared at her for a moment longer before stepping forward to sling his arm over her shoulders. It should have been a despicable thing to do — to touch her with such familiarity on a night like this, and with his reputation the way it was. But she was thankful for it all the same and didn’t stop herself from leaning into the heat of his side as drew her towards a sleepy side street.

They were silent for some dozen paces longer before she heard Link begin to clear his throat. He glanced over at her twice-more before he could bear it no longer.

“Won’t you tell me what it is?”

“No.”

“You know,” he replied coolly, “I heard what that little prince said to you. He seems much better than his sister.”

“Link,” she chided him with a sniff. “You’re not supposed to listen to that sort of thing.”

“I hardly had the choice. They wouldn’t let me leave my post. Not even to eat! Thank goodness that sweet flower brought me something out of the gentle kindness of her heart or I may have very well met my end.”

“You’re insatiable,” she replied with a hiccuping laugh.

“What?” He clapped his free hand against his chest in a show of piety. “Come now. I could hardly leave a young woman like that alone under the cover of night.”

“That’s the problem, Link. You need to be more careful. What if she’s the sister of someone important? Or the daughter? Or the _wife_?”

“You really have such a nasty impression of me,” he pouted.

“Only because I know you so well.”

“And I know _you_. So what is it? What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” she insisted again. He sighed.

“I’ve heard that he’s miserable with women,” he offered stubbornly, “but I think he did a good enough job, even if he is a bit of a coward. You could do far worse.”

“I _know_.” For a hero, Link was sometimes such a fool; why was it that he wanted to bring up the miserable memory of her bridegroom again, when it was already so fresh? Did she not deserve even a few hours to herself before she was dragged into her damned duty again? And what could he possibly have to offer her in the way of advice, burning the way he did through all of his poor admirers?

“So, what is it, then?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I am your friend! And I owe you about a dozen good deeds for everything you’ve done for me. Besides, how am I supposed to protect you from something if I don’t even know what it is? Has he done something to upset you?”

“No. Of course not.”

“His father, then? He seems like a right proper weasel.”

“He is,” she sighed, remembering Janna’s warning again, “most likely. But no, it isn’t that.”

“ _Your_ father?”

“Not this time. Enough, Link. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You’re _crying_. Talk to me, Zel.”

“Why?” She wrenched herself free from beneath his arm and stumbled forward. His pestering had broken down the last dam holding back her miserable emotions. They surged forward now despite how mortified it made her feel. “It won’t make a difference! Everything is already done and... and ruined. And something terrible is going to happen, I just know it! So what does it matter how I feel?”

“It matters to me,” he insisted. “Maybe I can help you.”

“No, you can’t! Enough, alright? I don’t want your help, I don’t want anyone’s help, I just want to be left alone. Am I really that pathetic to you?”

“What? Of course not. Zel, listen—”

“I don’t want to! Don’t you understand? Everything... and everyone always just telling me rules, advice, orders. I can’t listen to any of it any longer!” She hid her face behind her hands and growled a frustrated sound. “I know that I am just being a spoiled child but this is my life! And at this rate I’ll be hunted down by some horrific creature before I even have a chance to regret it. You know it’s true — all nonsense about the goddess aside, the one thing that’s always haunted the women of my family has been an early damned grave.”

“Zelda,” Link insisted gravely, “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“It’s not up to you. It’s...” She felt a fresh wave of fatigue pull at her shoulders. “I just want to live my own life. Not _hers_ , and not my father’s, either. You know what it’s like.” He flinched.

“Yes.”

“But now... now I know that it’s impossible. All of this,” she waved at the village around them, “it’s just the beginning. My father wouldn’t have brought me here if he didn’t think that something is about to happen.”

“It’s alright to be frightened.”

“I’m not fucking frightened!”

“Hey,” he replied with a surprised laugh at her language, “everything... everything will turn out. It always does.”

“Yes, and you and I both puppets, and that poor pathetic prince as well.”

“Oh, Zel,” he groaned, “he isn’t that bad.”

“No, but I don’t love him!”

“Well, no,” he contended, scratching at the back of his head as he tried to puzzle his way out from underneath her fiery mood. “But that’s how all of this goes, isn’t it? Maybe with time you’ll... hey, what is it?” She scrubbed at her watering eyes and turned away. “Zelda. Is there someone else?”

“No,” she croaked. He didn’t seem convinced.

“Listen...” He scuffed his boot against the gravel. “I... All of those girls, I’m terrible with them, I know. Most of them are perfectly charming in their own right, just like your Jerek — harmless, blameless, what have you. But it makes no difference to me, does it? No matter what they do or how they look they’ll never be _her_. I think I’ll probably love her until I die. It’s pathetic, right?”

“No,” she muttered again.

“But no matter what I do — even with this,” he shrugged his shoulder to pull at the fanciful scabbard at his back, “I’m still just a farmer’s son. But you’ll be _queen_ some day, Zelda.”

“Yes, but I’ll always just be my father’s daughter,” she countered coldly. His chest filled with a sigh as he nodded.

“I suppose so. Maybe I don’t know how any of this works.” He rubbed at his nose. “Sorry. Forget it. I haven’t been any help. Let’s go.” She nodded glumly and followed after him as they continued on towards the huge willow lurking in the distance. She felt his eyes on her as they walked but did her best to ignore them.

“You know,” he started again, “a few weeks ago, right after everything that happened at the springs, I was perusing the palace cellars one night when I caught our favorite monk doing the same thing.”

“What?” Her gaze snapped towards him in surprise. What did Vehvan have to do with anything? Her chest burned in agony as she wondered if Link had inherited telepathy alongside his newfound sword.

“I know,” he continued smoothly. “I never took him to be a thief. Naturally I invited him to share a bottle of wine.”

“You know, if someone catches you down there you might very well find yourself in trouble.” He waved away her warning with a flip of his hand.

“The trouble of it was that that big bastard could drink a barrel on his own and still find himself sober. So, we fell to talking and maybe I started asking some questions I shouldn’t‘ve after I tried to keep up with him.”

“Link,” she warned him, sensing what he’d mention next. Hadn’t she suffered enough to not have to learn more about Vehvan’s trysts with her new sister-in-law as well? “I don’t... I don’t want to know about that.”

“About what?” He cocked his head at her. “Oh, right. Well, see, that’s what I was thinking as well, but I couldn’t just ask him outright, right? Seemed to be in poor taste. So I asked him about how he found the capital instead. You know, that boring sort of thing. And eventually we came to the topic of why he’d stayed. I know as well as you that he isn’t so terribly dedicated to our lady Hylia, hm? Surely it must be driving him mad to play those games all of the time. I thought I’d finally led him into my trap to tell me more about that conniving little silver bird—”

“Link.” She balled her fingers into fists and wondered if she’d need to resort to violence to stop him from wrenching the final turn of the knife that had stuck itself into her gut.

“And he said the most peculiar thing. Well, not peculiar, really — more predictable, I guess, at least for you.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“He told me that he was there for you.” A fresh pinch of frustration bloomed in her chest. How long would these people commit themselves to her before they learned that she wasn’t interested in being served like some mistress over a pack of hounds? Link read her look easily. “But not like that. He told me that he‘s in love with you.”

“What?”

“I know. I didn’t realize that he and I were such kindred souls, you know? But he was being honest, I’— ack!” Link flinched as her palm snapped against his cheek. “What was that for?”

“You’re horrible!” Her chest heaved with a fresh wave of tears as she considered slapping him again. She decided against it and turned on her heel to dash towards the ring of hedges in the distance instead. 

“Zelda! Wait!” Link gaped after her, his hand clapped against his red cheek as he watched her tear the glittering net from her hair and dash it in her wake. He lumbered after her to retrieve it and froze as he spotted a familiar tall shadow working its way down the central path from the long hall they’d left behind some time before. It paused as Zelda’s harried figure stumbled past, the clatter of the gate leading into the willow house loud against the drowsy night lull.

“Shit,” Link sighed as he watched the shadow follow after where she’d gone.

* * *

Zelda’s pulse hammered in her ears as she crashed towards her dressing table. Her scalp smarted as she tried in vain to unwind Impa’s impossible braids. The tight up-do had left her head aching, the least of her worries but the only thing that she could possibly fix. She allowed herself to sob wretchedly as she fumbled with the endless pins. Her face was a pink mess looking back at her from the mirror propped against the wall. _Stupid_ , she wanted to shout at it, _you stupid, miserable, selfish little fool._

“Zelda?” Her veins iced over at the sound of his voice. Part of her wanted to laugh at the cruelty of everything — of what Jerek had pledged to her, firstly, and then what Link had told her afterwards and now _him_ , the last of any of them she would have wanted to summon there, especially now. She tried to suck in a steadying breath as she heard the door into he little house creak open but it did nothing more than send her into another fit of self-pitying weeping.

“ _Khadash_ ,” he cursed in his mother tongue, “what is it? What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” she insisted for another useless time. She braced herself against the table with one hand and waved him away with the other. “It’s nothing, Vehvan.”

“Tell me.” There was something in his voice that compelled her to be honest. Her lips twisted into a rueful smile as she looked into a far corner. He shouldn’t have been there. Any other man would have known that it was a blasphemous thing to follow a woman like he had. But he had never really been a part of that world, had he?

“Link has told me the most outrageous story,” she managed finally. “He’s told me that you love me.” She turned to look at him again, her face drawn into a tearful smile. “What a wicked jape, isn’t it?”

His jaw tightened as he stared back at her. For a moment he looked angry before something flinching and nearly pitiful filled his features. She staggered back a half step as he strode forward. A dizzying rush filled her head as she realized that the sudden warmth at her arms was the grip of his hands and that her breathlessness was because he was kissing her.

Somewhere in a distance place she could feel the pinch of her guilt gnawing at her. What a terrible thing to do, it insisted; and in this place where she had been so recently promised with all of her father’s eager toasting. It was impossible, another voice ordered her — exactly the thing that she had been warned against as a little girl when Impa had noticed her blushing when she’d spotted some of the knights training in the yard. _What you mustn’t_ , a third voice cried out, cruel and unfamiliar; _never, never._

She ignored them all for the taste of him, spiced just like the wine had been, and for the heat of his body so close to her own. She kissed him as eagerly as he did her, submitting to the touch of his hands as they slipped over her body, and only looked into his face again as she felt him hesitate as she pulled him towards her bed.

“Please.” He winced at her request. Maybe he had his own voices begging him to stop. _No matter_. She quieted her own again by working the ties of her robe-like gown free. Part of her was terrified at the great unknown of what was to come next but mostly she was just thrilled by the base feeling that had begun to fill her — wanting, certainly, but something more forceful as well. She wondered if this was what it was like when a soldier stared at the great maw of the battlefield spread before him, frightened but hungry for the conquest waiting ahead.

The silk of her clothes gathered at her heels as she slunk onto the bed. She gasped with pleasure as Vehvan followed after, shedding his own reservations alongside her engagement gown as he chased after her into the sheets. 


	9. Love Stories

On the eve of her fourteenth birthday, Zelda had discovered a collection of short novels hidden in the eastern library that had looked quite misplaced alongside their stodgy cousins. With thin spines and covered in vibrant illustrations, the books must have been squirreled away by a distant aunt who had grown tired of the usual tomes on faith and history. They were full instead of lurid tales featuring a cast of willful women who were all — except one endeavoring songstress, who had, secretly, been Zelda’s favorite — like her; headstrong but inexperienced.

No matter how they arrived to the final pages of their tales, all of the cooing protagonists were fated to find some strong-armed man (princes from foreign lands, chiefly, along with burly foresters and enough brave knights to form a proper company) who quickly became besotted with them and, in short order, invited them to bed. With the exception of the charming songstress, the stories proceeded the same; first, the man of the hour would profess his love for the titular maiden, and generally with much sighing and blushing interspersed.

Next they would hold hands and peck each other with gentle kisses that were defined with words like “soft” and “plump” and “pink” like flowers gathered into a lusty bouquet. What came after was hidden behind obscure metaphors peppered with words like “manhood” and “maidenhead,” but in all instances the act the author was so timid to pen plainly was something delicate, artful, and quick. In the end the satisfied lovers would fall into a peaceful slumber, arm in arm, and awaiting some epilogue detailing the fine family they’d built along the way.

None of the books — not even her favorite, which detailed the songstress’ many conquests — were honest, she’d realized too late. There had been nothing delicate in what Vehvan had offered her, and he certainly hadn’t stuttered through some declaration of love in doing so. Instead she’d found him a wolf to the rabbit she had become. For perhaps the first time she’d realized just how much he dwarfed her — and, while she had admired the sight of him as she’d helped him pull the tunic from his shoulders, his strange dormant strength had suddenly become intimidating once she’d had a closer look at his bare skin.

“You’re frightened,” he’d observed, aghast, as he’d pulled back from kissing her throat.

“I’m not,” she’d insisted breathily, stopping his retreat by tightening her grip behind his nape. What an image she must have cast, she thought glumly in that moment — her hair not spread in golden ringlets across her pillow, like the stories had foretold, but instead half-braided and mussed and wild. Certainly her face was still ruddy and tear-stained. She wondered, too, if her mouth tasted like the garlic of her dinner, or the roasted creatures that he himself had foresworn. How could he want her like that?

As if she’d spoken the words aloud he’d reached forward to stroke her cheek. The simple gesture had been enough to rekindle the low smolder in her stomach. She’d gathered all of her courage, then, and, taking inspiration from her favorite heroine, had hunted below the sheets to find the laces of his trousers. His reluctance had become less convincing after that.

A part of her had been disappointed that he’d been so deft in what had come to pass. In her books, the gallant lovers had all been as virginal as the women they’d bedded, and both of them discovering pleasure together for the first time. Their authors had belabored that point in earnest; perhaps it had made the stories they penned feel less obscene, in some way, for them to at least insist that their characters generally would never do such a thing if left to their own devices. Only true love could bring them together in that way, they seemed to insist; but then, just how much true love had Vehvan found before her, the way his hands seemed to know each tender part of her to touch?

And yet when his goldspun eyes met hers, half-lidded and hungry, none of her reservations had mattered much any longer. She’d reveled in the way his breathing had become hitched, and the muffled moan he’d made when he’d entered her had been enough to ignore how much it’d hurt. She’d gripped at him tightly, then, trusting that in time it wouldn’t ache the way it did at first — and finding that she was right, blissfully, when a strange tension began to fill her until it crested and left her trembling and lightheaded.

She’d still been reeling in the heady aftermath of her climax when he’d pulled himself jerkily from her to do the same. Only when they had both collapsed, sweaty and breathless, did the gravity of what they’d done begin to settle over them. It was not, Zelda quickly understood, a tender slumber that followed, like her stores had foretold, but first embarrassed laughter as Vehvan realized that he’d ruined one of the pretty pillows that had at one time crowned her bed.

“Shit,” he’d muttered ruefully.

“We can bury it,” she had suggested. He’d looked back at her incredulously. “Or burn it.”

“ _Zelda_ ,” he chided her next. Despite their playful tones they’d both known that there was something more dire there as well. Evidence. It was all evidence, wasn’t it? She’d nudged herself tighter against him, then, her cheek against his chest to stop him from looking at her with so much guilt already flashing in his eyes.

But, then again, she’d done perhaps the worst thing a woman in her position could do. Hylia’s blessings aside she was first and foremost a princess, and any woman of means was always judged chiefly based on her purity. She’d read before that any skilled rider would be able to avoid the whole business of bleeding on their wedding night, which she’d proven moments before, groom or not — but would she be able to feign the bashfulness she’d felt before, now that she knew what it was like to be joined with a man in that way?

“I have to leave.” His words were not the sweet nothings from her novels, either, but that didn’t make them any less true. She glanced at the window. It was still dark, but the first hint of dawn had begun to lighten the willow’s boughs. He would need all of the darkness that was left to slip away before someone caught him and condemned him with... what would it be? Treason? If not something worse?

She nodded and rose onto her elbows. He bent forward to rise from the bed but stopped to crane sideways, first, to kiss her for a final time. For everything that had happened it was the thing to make her blush. Bashful again, she gripped her knees to her chest and kept her eyes on the crest of her toes while he dressed himself beside the bed.

“What you said before,” he started again after some time, his voice low and quiet in the hopes of not being heard outside. “It’s true. I do love you.”

Her heart thudded against her chest. She wasn’t so sure just how to see him, then; all it had taken was his clothes to transform him into a gentle monk again and yet it would be difficult to forget how he’d looked before. And then... then there was that old ghost of his that still made her wonder, sometimes, if he had truly risen from the pages of her books — not the overworked romance novels she’d hidden under her pillow but the gold-leafed pages her father had given her detailing the lives she’d supposedly lived before, and all of them locked in a desperate battle against the man he so perfectly mimicked.

“I love you, too,” she admitted to him all the same.

Maybe it would have been better if, like in those old love stories she’d read, she’d leapt from the bed in that moment so that they could have stolen away together to live a hidden life abroad. Or, if he’d foresworn the penalty of being found to lay chastely beside her so that they could wake later as proper lovers instead of parties to a hidden affair. There were a dozen better endings to what had happened, she supposed, but she had been content to watch him smile at her before he nodded and quietly slipped through the door.

* * *

“Zelda.” She woke slowly to the knocking at her door. Impa’s impatient greeting was nicely timed against the throbbing of her head — heavy from the wine — and the dull ache between her thighs. She did her best to ignore the latter half as she stumbled from her bed. It had been dawn properly by the time she’d managed to dispose of everything incriminating in her room, and later still by the time she had settled her nerves enough to fall asleep. Paired with the exhaustion from their ride east and the trial of her engagement dinner, it was a wonder that she could manage to string her arms through her dressing robe at all. 

“Yes,” she managed blearily as she padded towards the voice. “What is it?”

“It’s nearly noon,” her retained complained as she shouldered open the door. “I hardly think it’s becoming for you — goodness, and look at you!” Zelda winced as Impa stormed the room. “Honestly, Zelda. Drinking like that. What has gotten into you?” She frowned. And what was that supposed to mean? Perhaps she’d enjoyed a little more than she generally preferred, but it wasn’t like she’d been any worse off than the rest of them. “You’re lucky that Link is a man of discretion, princess. When he told me that you were ill last night I was... well, I wasn’t certain if I should be angrier at our host or you.”

“Yes, well, I suppose I was a little swept up with all of the festivities,” she answered meekly as Impa lurched forward to finger her messy hair. Zelda had tried to pry it free from its braids earlier that morning, but had managed little more than to knot it even tighter.

“Really. How did you sleep with all of this in pins? You’re lucky you didn’t prick yourself.”

“Yes, Impa.” She submitted herself to her strong hands as she pushed her into a chair.

“And the back... it’s positively a rat’s nest, princess. What am I to do with this?”

“I’m sorry, Impa.” The Sheikah clicked her tongue.

“And can you imagine how I felt when that boy of yours wouldn’t let me see you off to bed? Don’t think that just because you are a woman to be married, that you suddenly don’t need your poor old Impa anymore.”

“Oh, come now,” Zelda sighed, catching the woman’s wounded tone too easily. She reached behind her shoulder to snatch at her hand and squeeze. “I’ll always need you. I just... I just wanted to be alone for a little while, that’s all.”

“Very well,” Impa sighed. Despite her apparent forgiveness, she still tugged at Zelda’s hair remorselessly. Zelda winced and stared at her toes, her mind still snagged on something the woman had mentioned. Yes, she was lucky that Link was a man of discretion; and luckier still that he had somehow managed to chase Impa away the night before. But his commitment to the task also meant that he had known just how critical it was that she not enter the willow house at all.

 _Shit_. Her lagging mind began to race. It was running in proper circles by the time that she had bathed and had been dressed in another neat ensemble, this time completed by a pair of jodhpurs and well-shined boots. Jerek wished to ride, Impa had told her as she half-listened to her; it seemed more likely that her father wanted to remind the Kakarikans that he was their king, and not the man who had borrowed the moniker when he wasn’t there to hear. Zelda wasn’t terribly enthusiastic about the idea of sitting astride a horse that afternoon, but she was even less eager about having to face her dutiful guard.

She did not have to wait long. The timeless hero was waiting for her at the foot of her stairs, looking bright-eyed as he greeted her with a low bow. The grin on his lips as he rose again — toothy, like a cat’s that had just found itself a nest of mice ready to be devoured — told her everything she needed to know.

“Good morning, princess.”

“Good morning, Link.” She did her best to ignore him as she followed Impa into the road.

“I do hope you are feeling better this morning. Er, afternoon.”

“Yes,” she answered through her teeth. “Your concern is very kind.”

“And where does the king wish to ride?” Impa interrupted their stilted greeting impatiently. Link shot a withering smile in her direction.

“East, towards Mount Lanayru,” he answered nicely. “The Kakarikans have prepared a light lunch for us to eat during our ride.”

“Goodness,” Impa sighed, not terribly partial to riding herself. “We may as well ride back to the capital.” Zelda winced in commiseration. She didn’t miss Link’s knowing look, sharp and nearly haughty, as the trio rounded the final corner towards the village gates.

There was no small riding party waiting for them there. Her father was at its center, naturally, already astride his proud silver-coated stallion and barking some joke in the vice chancellor’s direction. The Yiga was doing his best impression of a smile as he tightened the belt of his saddle against the swell of his own mount’s strong belly. His son was a half-dozen paces away, looking rather dashing in his riding clothes. Dashing but timid, which seemed to be a constant with him, and doubly so as he continued on in his work of slowly raising his ungloved hand towards the huffing nostrils of the big black beast he’d mustered the courage — or the foolishness — to court. 

“My,” Link drawled in a voice so low that only she could hear, “how very interesting.” She shot him a dour look before turning to watch as Vehvan’s horse snuffed at the man’s extended fingers. It craned its neck to stare, seemingly unconvinced, in its master’s direction before relenting and nudging Jerek’s hand with a relatively gentle tap.

“Goodness,” she heard Jerek gasp giddily, “but what a fine creature he is. And you say you found him in the desert?”

“Yes,” Vehvan replied before pivoting to wave off the small fleet of stable boys lingering awkwardly at his heels. It seemed as though his insistence that he required no saddle had left them positively perplexed. She would have laughed at the scene if not for the tightness of her chest. Link sensed it and, somewhat sinisterly, nudged her forward towards the duo.

“Princess!” Jerek greeted her sunnily as she stumbled into their midst. He danced forward to take her hand into his own, brushing his lips chastely against it before stepping back again and working his fingers into the soft kid leather of his glove. “How handsome you look in your riding clothes.”

“And you as well,” she offered him tritely. “Do you ride often?”

“Not often,” he admitted sheepishly. “And not as well as you, I’m sure, but enough to trail behind. At the very least it seems we shall have fine weather this afternoon, so I am content to take in the sun even in your wake.”

“Well now,” she countered, trying her best to steady her voice even as her eyes darted to meet Vehvan’s — and how easy it was for him to smile at her, wasn’t it, with those tigers’ eyes of his flashing in the sun as if he hadn’t a care in the world — before snapping back again. “It’s not a competition, Jerek. I’m sure we will all enjoy a gentle pace.”

Link cleared his throat. It made her cheeks burn. Oh, enough, she wanted to snap at him; she’d said nothing improper, so what else could he expect? She did not linger to find out. Impa readied her mare for her, the creature’s mane braided neatly and paired against her well-shined tack. She stroked its cheek tenderly before stepping into the brace of Impa’s arm to leverage herself into her saddle.

Somewhere close by a horn tooted to signal that the party was prepared. Her father was the first to kick off into a canter (without a greeting in her direction, she noted dryly, watching the dust gather at his horse’s hooves), and with a train of bureaucrats at a polite distance behind. Zelda lingered at the rear with Link astride her on his Doxos and Jerek at her other hand.

The Yiga prince was a better rider than what he’d said. No doubt his sister was as well, although she could barely spot her between the stiff backs of the riders ahead. She could not see Vehvan, either, although she could hear the heavy beating of his horse’s hooves echoing at the file’s tail.

“Princess,” Jerek began as they rounded the bend leading them away from the heart of the village’s deep canyon, “have you spent much time in the countryside here?”

“No,” she admitted. He nodded and flashed her a smile.

“Then I shall tell you about it, if it would please you?”

“Certainly.” He seemed satisfied by her response. She listened to him as he began to regale her with the history of the Kakariko — which, to be honest, would have been just the thing to catch her interest before. But now she found it difficult to focus on his words. Her ears were filled by the steady hammer of the black stallion’s hoofbeats instead, each stroke stoking a memory of the night before. How much like his horse he had been, really; strong-bodied and enduring. The thought made her blush.

“Princess?” She turned her head to stare wordlessly in Jerek’s direction. Had he asked her a question? She glanced across the flat of the meadow they had spilled into — my, but they had traveled quite a distance already. Her eyes settled on the far tree-line.

“Would you fancy a race?” She turned to Jerek again with her proposal. His mouth twitched into an unusual shape.

“A... race, your grace?”

“Yes. Due south, shall we? I believe we are not so far from the coast. The one to see waves first shall be the victor.”

“I don’t — that’s rather a distance, princess.”

“Come. What fun it will be!” She’d already gathered her reins in her hands. Jerek seemed to sense that there was no hope of dissuading her. His face turned an uneasy grey as he glanced over at the front half of their party.

“Tell my father, would you,” he acquiesced finally, waving at a well-dressed man at his right hand, “that the princess wishes to ride south, and that we will meet him back at the gates this evening.”

“Very good, my lord,” the man replied, sounding similarly unconvinced. Good enough, she wagered, clicking her tongue as she heard the words. Her mare leapt forward as she steered her away from the file. She heard Link cry out at her as she did, as well as Jerek’s surprised gasp as she left him behind; but she knew that, no matter how comfortable either of them were a-saddle, there was only one horse in their company that could rival her mare’s speed.

They wove nimbly through the underbrush ringing the meadow. She leaned low into her saddle and felt her lungs fill with a charging breath. Faster, faster, she urged her mare on — and, as if in reply, she heard the crashing of heavy hooves growing ever-louder in her ears. At first she heard Link’s voice as well, calling out some warning at Jerek as the branches grew thick. Soon after the hum of their cries grew quiet and then silent.

Then there was nothing but the harried huffing of her horse and the one that was now at her heels, and both of them as giddy with the chase as their riders were themselves. She wondered again just when, and how, Vehvan had learned to ride as she banked her mare to throw them off of their southward trajectory and deeper into the wood. He followed after easily, his horse weaving between the tree trunks as though he had ridden the path a hundred times before.

Some time later she caught the glitter of a stream weaving its way through the wood. Perfect, she thought, as she turned again to follow it until it drew into a lazy pond. She pulled back on her reins and brought her mare to a faltering stop.

“This is hardly the coast,” Vehvan contended in a winded voice as he sidled beside her. He’d shifted to Gerudo, as if the trees would otherwise listen in to what they had to say. She was keen to play along.

“It’s close enough.” She grinned at him before swinging herself from her saddle and leading her mount across the final steps to the pond. The mare drank hungrily from the water, her dark-colored companion lumbering after her to join in. She circled his rider, pulling the gloves from her hands as she watched him size her up.

“You’ve been busy this morning,” she noted as he came closer. His brow notched higher at the idea.

“How so?”

“You’ve made a friend.” He very nearly rolled his eyes as she invoked the image of her betrothed.

“It wasn’t difficult,” he replied with a rare, sardonic tone.

“And yet it still seems cruel.” She touched the collar of his tunic with the tips of her fingers. He watched them with a drowsy stare.

“They may not be so far away.”

“They are,” she assured him with a grin. “Doxos is a sweet creature, but he is terribly slow. And far be it for the prince to leave Link behind.” She’d used the word jestingly, but it still made the corners of Vehvan’s mouth turn.

“A prince already, is he?” She shouldn’t have tested him like that, perhaps, but there was something so terribly intriguing about riling his nerves. After all, hadn’t he done the same himself to her in so many different ways before? She gathered her nerves and strung her arms around his neck. 

“What is it that you’d like me to make you?” She’d meant the question to be sly, but the effect was ruined by the peal of laughter that followed as he suddenly snaked his arms around her waist and spun her. The earth lurched from side to side until she found herself sprawled against the loamy grass.

“You shouldn’t be so proud just for winning a race with a finish line you’ve invented yourself,” he chided her. She grinned again and responded to his challenge with a kiss. He returned it — and eagerly, she noted with pleasure — and drew his hand along her thigh. She was prepared to do worse to him before she caught the sight of something lurking behind his head.

“Wait. Stop,” she muttered miserably. He obeyed, his confusion easy to read.

“What is it?”

“I can’t. Not with her there.” She pointed over his shoulder. He turned to spot the little round-backed statue peeking through the brush. The goddess statue looked ancient — sun bleached, from when the canopy wasn’t as thick-grown as it was now, and well-worn across its brow. Vehvan laughed.

“Honestly,” Zelda continued with a sigh as he freed her from his straddle to sit beside her. “She’s everywhere.”

“It’s just a statue,” he teased.

“That’s easy for you to say.” She turned onto her stomach and buried her chin against her arms. “She’s haunted me since I was just a little girl.”

“I’ve seen quite a bit of her myself,” he contended. Yes, she supposed that was right, what with his being a so-called monk and all. The idea still seemed quite absurd.

“I wonder...” she drawled on, staring into the stone Hylia’s dreamy face, “at the heart of it, if anything about her is truly real.”

“Of course it is.” She glanced over at him in surprise.

“What, you’ve found faith, after all of this time?” He laughed again.

“I don’t know if I would call it that.”

“Well, what would you call it, then?”

“I don’t know. Intuition, I suppose.”

“Ha. Well, your intuition has made my life rather difficult, you know.”

“Only because you’ve let it.” She inched closer towards him with a glare.

“Oh, is that right? Tell me, then, how my curse is somehow my fault?” He countered her rising temper with a crooked smile.

“The world, I think, is broken into two halves — the things we know to be true, even if we have not seen them ourselves, and the things we believe in despite everything we know.” She hummed noncommittally.

“And so you believe in the goddess?”

“No,” he corrected her, “but I know that she exists.”

“That’s the same thing.” He shrugged his shoulders. “So what is it that you believe in?”

“I believe that I love you.”

“ _Vehvan_ ,” she groaned, half wooed and half bemused.

“And I know that, despite that, you will soon be married to another man.” She frowned. “But I believe that you love me, too—”

“I do,” she insisted tightly.

“—and that you will still love me when you do.”

“It’s just...” Her chest began to burn. “It’s just that I have no choice, Vehvan. If the Yiga turn against the empire we will be at war on two fronts.”

“I know.”

“And the vice chancellor — he is a bitter old man. His pride would never recover if I were to break the engagement.”

“I understand.”

“But do you, really?” The question was more for herself than him. Impa’s words from earlier that week echoed again in her mind. He may have been the one who had defiled her in the eyes of others, but she was the one who had condemned him. He smiled and traced the curve of her jaw with the crook of his hand.

“I’ve never wanted to be a king,” he answered simply with another shrug.

“So what is it that you want?” He turned his head at the sound of something distant and crashing; hoofbeats, she realized, her heart sinking. Vehvan stood and offered her his hand.

“Isn’t it obvious?” At last she was transformed into one of the blushing girls from her books. But, as she turned to greet Link, his face covered in thin scratches and filled with a bitter scowl as he staggered through the brush, there was something in what Vehvan had said that left her feeling miserable instead of charmed.


	10. Good, Bad

“Princess,” Jerek began breathlessly as the duo crashed into the glen. While Link’s fierce expression had been amusing, the Yiga’s look of relief filled her with guilt instead. “That was... I was frightened that you might have gotten yourself lost.” 

“I did,” she admitted with a laugh. “I’m sorry, Jerek. Please forgive me. I’m afraid that I was too confident in my mastery of the area. Thankfully Brother Vehvan was able to find me, and you as well, or I think I may have very well wandered in here for the rest of my days.”

“Yes, well, it isn’t difficult to track that monster of yours,” Link quipped as he eyed Vehvan’s stallion. The beast craned its head at him and huffed. He shrunk slightly at the sound and thumbed his crooked ear.

“But what a beautiful place you’ve found,” Jerek continued as he glanced into the canopy. The branches above their heads were so thick that one could barely make out the sky behind them, save for the glittering patchwork of sunlight that streamed through. “And is that...? Yes!” He danced forward to crouch beside the goddess statue half-hidden in the brush.

“There was a temple here, once,” he told them as he shooed away a little spider from the hollow beside the statue’s nose. “Long ago. It fell to the forest when... well, with the Calamity, I suppose.” He glanced up thoughtfully into the branches again. “Yes, I think that’s right. I can imagine it was difficult to maintain much of anything when all of that happened.”

“Yes,” Zelda agreed as a gloomy feeling filled her. “How terrible.”

“Goodness, although it seems absurd for me to tutor you on the subject, doesn’t it?” He stood and laughed, scrubbing at his silver hair with a self-conscious combing of his fingers. “And to think that it was that very sword that slew the devil king.” His eyes settled on Link’s back.

“Er,” Link stuttered awkwardly, “do you... do you want to see it?” Jerek clapped his fingers over his lips.

“Could I?” His cheeks flushed as he caught himself too late. “That is... I shouldn’t, really. After all, it isn’t some bauble to flash about, now is it?” Link shrugged. He’d already unfastened the scabbard from his shoulder and brandished it at him. “Well, perhaps just a quick look.”

Jerek took the sword from him gingerly. Zelda watched, bemused, as he slowly unsheathed it. His wrist bent at an awkward angle as he did his best to keep the blade straight.

“It’s heavy,” he laughed breathily, his eyes dancing along the sword’s sharp edge. “My. It looks as thought it was just forged, doesn’t it? Does it require much care?”

“As much as any other sword,” Link mumbled. Jerek nodded sagely.

“Incredible. To be made by the goddess’ own hand.” He swung it clumsily, his brows folding together as he tried to keep his balance. “Tell me. Do you remember?”

“What?” Link frowned. His face was nearly grey — she wagered he had quickly grown tired of Jerek’s display. She wanted desperately to cut it short as well, but Jerek’s enthusiasm seemed to have bewitched them both.

“Cutting him down.” He jabbed the point into the air. “I’ve read that with the killing stroke, that he didn’t bleed at all — that he was filled with nothing but rot and grave-soil. Is it true?”

“I don’t remember it,” Link insisted through his teeth.

“Absurd,” Vehvan interjected. Link glanced over at him with relief as he came to his rescue. “He was just a man, and died as any other man would.”

“Really?” Jerek seemed disappointed. His grip sagged as the sword’s point buried itself into the soil. “Of course I suppose that you would know, good brother. My sister tells me that you are a true scholar of the divine. How pleased I would be if you would offer me some of your time, one day, to instruct me on the matter as well.” Vehvan shrugged his shoulders. Zelda wanted to laugh at the familiar gesture, but there was something in his face that left her feeling unsettled instead. 

“It’s terrible to think that we may soon meet him ourselves,” Jerek continued with a sigh. Her stomach pinched.

“What are you talking about?”

“The King of Thieves,” he answered, his face blanched at the idea of explaining it to her. “My father says... well, why else, really, would your powers have awakened if he is not to return?” Link answered the Yiga’s stare with a withering one of his own.

“I was just protecting the princess,” he replied, stepping forward to take the sword. Jerek looked quite bashful as it was retrieved.

“Of course,” Jerek agreed. “As will we all, in the days to come, no matter the circumstance.” Zelda flinched.

“Let’s not talk about this nonsense any longer.” She stepped forward towards her mare. “Shall we rejoin the party? Before my father believes I’ve defected, that is.”

“As you wish,” Jerek answered, although she’d already made her way to her mount’s side. They rode together at a sobered pace in their return back towards the eastward road. Zelda did her best to remind herself of Vehvan’s crooked grin as she watched him ride, her chest growing tight at the sudden stormy grimace that had replaced it. 

* * *

“Zel. Zel. Zelda. _Zel_.”

“What is it?” She resisted the urge to jab the point of her elbow into his side. Still, she did not turn to look at him, either, as the duo made the familiar trek back to the willow house again. It was the last time that they would make the journey. In the morning she would wake to another ride, and this one pointed plainly at the endless bridges that would take them to Zora’s Domain. The notion almost made her sad.

“Are you going to tell me just what it is you’re doing?”

“Hm?” His sharp tone was enough to make her pause. Surely he would have been chastised for it if they had not found themselves alone.

“When I told you about, _you know_ ,” Link whispered quickly, “I didn’t do it so that you could have them _both_.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She swallowed in an effort to quench the rising fire in her throat.

“I saw. During dinner. You let Jerek hold your hand.”

“Oh, Link, it was hardly enough to even make a priestess blush — and as for you, I’ve seen you do far worse, you know.”

“That isn’t the point. What about Vehvan?”

“What about him?”

“Zelda,” he winced. “I thought... But then, if it wasn’t that, what was he doing in your room that night?”

“I’d rather not share the details,” she sputtered, failing to catch her blush before it spilled across her cheeks. That made his scowl deepen even further still.

“You can’t mean to tell me—”

“Tell you what? Just what is it that I’m obligated to explain to you?”

“Zel,” he chided her again as she skipped away from his bewildered stare. “He’s in love with you.”

“I know.” She crossed her arms over her chest, although it did little to protect her from the pinch behind them. “I... I love him, too.”

“Wha,” he mouthed, his brows knitting together. “So then, why carry on with the engagement?”

“Oh, Link. Not everyone can be a romantic — not even of your peculiar variety.”

“I’m not saying anything about romance,” he snipped, jogging forward to keep pace. “But it’s not like you to be cruel.”

“Cruel? And what’s cruel about protecting my people? It’s very much the reason I’m here at all.”

“You saw Jerek with a sword,” Link countered dryly, “I don’t think he’s quite the protecting type.”

“Swinging a sword’s not the only way to help someone, you know. And better for me that it isn’t,” she replied with a low tone of her own. “I’m tired, Link. Let’s not talk about this any longer. You won’t change my mind.”

“You need to be careful,” he persisted.

“That’s why I have you,” she insisted. “Or am I to take that as a threat?” He shot his fingers through his hair with a frustrated gesture.

“You can’t be serious. Listen to me, Zel. You can’t sleep with him.”

“I... I’m not talking about this with you,” she ordered, doing her best to settle her voice into that stony tone her father always used when he found his back against a wall. Link groaned, reading her as easily as always.

“You’ve lost your mind. You’re not like me, you know, and certainly not like.. like the girls that live here, you understand? I might not be the best man to teach you the lesson, but another blond bastard isn’t much a threat to the throne. But even Jerek won’t be naive enough to think that he could give you red-headed daughters!”

“Enough!” She’d finally mastered the tone. He flinched as she strode past him.

“Where are you going?”

“It doesn’t concern you,” she countered icily. “Go to bed, Link. Your own or another’s — it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Hey, now. Come on.”

“You’re dismissed, Link. No one is going to hurt me here. It isn’t a suggestion. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He gaped at her as she slunk away but made no move to disobey.

* * *

Vehvan didn’t seem surprised to watch her sling her leg over the sill of his open window. It annoyed her, although the feeling was only a drop in the bucket of fury kindled from her argument with Link. Still, it would have been better to have been met with something — a gasp, a cry, laughter, even, as she ripped her skirts from the branches of the tree she’d gracelessly clamored up to make her way inside his borrowed apartment — instead of with that flat look of his.

“What are you doing?” He neither answered nor watched her as she advanced upon his desk. His eyes were settled on a book instead. It was a huge, ancient looking thing that nearly swamped the desktop with its tea-colored pages. There was a pile of silk scraps at his hand as well. Others had been tucked between the pages he’d already turned like fox-tails peeking above a sea of reeds. He took another from the pile and placed it in the cleft of the book’s spine before swiping through the pages.

“Your prince is quite insistent on his lessons,” he replied finally. She snuck behind his shoulders to sneak a look at the tome.

“He’s not a prince yet.” She challenged his placid Hylian with a mouthful of Gerudo words. So her taunt had come back to haunt her already, had it? She watched as the curve of his cheek drew higher with a hidden grin.

At least she’d finally caught his interest with her feat of switching tongues.

“I imagine he would say the same to me,” he wagered, slipping himself into his mother language with ease. The book’s spine cracked as he turned another page. “To me, however, he may as well be an emperor. I’ve been charged with preparing him a reading for tomorrow’s ride, and so here I am.”

“That will be quite the thing to carry on horseback,” she quipped as she eyed the book’s broad wingspan.

“My understanding is that carriages are being prepared.” She groaned at the idea. Had her father grown tired of their riding already? Although she supposed that it was better than burning under the sun. Still, the cabins would be stifling without the respite of a breeze, and she was not foolish enough to think that she would escape the duty of serving as Jerek’s cabin-fellow once they’d set off. _Fantastic_. Her riled temper crackled hotter still.

She reached forward to pluck at the tight wind of Vehvan’s braids with all of the energy of a little girl toying with a doll after she’d been chastised. How was it that he managed it, she wondered; in all the time they’d spent together in the castle, he’d always had it tucked so neatly in its strange basketweave. She’d never seen him do it, of course, but neither had she seen the look of it on anyone else. Of course, in the past she’d suspected that it had been Janna’s handiwork, but now she was not so sure — or perhaps she was just more hopeful than usual that it wasn’t.

“What are you doing?” He asked her the question dryly as he turned another page.

“I want to see how long its grown.” He sighed.

“That takes a long time, you know.”

“I’m a princess,” she challenged haughtily. “A real one, already crowned. You’re supposed to do what I say.” She felt his head quiver under her touch but he appeared to otherwise relent. Satisfied, she set upon her work more eagerly. The tips of her nails proved to be just the tool to free the braids from their uniform plaits. Vehvan said nothing further; she would have suspected that he were asleep if not for his steady advance through his book.

“What exactly is it that you’re reading?” She’d unwound two of the four concentric rings that made up his hairstyle by the time she could not weather the silence any longer.

“Your—”

“He isn’t my _anything_ ,” she interrupted him bitterly. He huffed a breath of laughter through his nose.

“Jerek was clearly inspired by our ride this afternoon,” he continued. “He’s asked me to draw him up a study of the King of Thieves’ various failures.”

“On how to defeat him?”

“No,” he corrected her. “On the manner in which he died.” She crinkled her nose.

“That’s rather dark.”

“It seems he has that side to him,” Vehvan agreed, sounding somewhat bemused. “No doubt that he will be disappointed to learn that dying is never the best part of these old stories.”

“So what is it that you’ll tell him?”

“Nothing. Monks don’t tell people things, you know — they simply give them the resources to draw their own conclusions.”

“I didn’t realize that I’d turned you into a librarian.”

“And yet you have,” he countered dryly.

“Do you do this yourself?”

“Well, yes, mostly, unless I can’t find a particular volume or—”

“No, _this_.” She tugged at the strand of hair she’d freed from its mooring. He batted clumsily at her hands.

“Yes.”

“Where did you learn it?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Why do you do it?”

“To keep it out of the way.”

“Why not just cut it, then?”

“I don’t know.” He nodded his head backwards so that he could stare upwards into her face. His eyes captured her, like that always did, with their peculiar molten stare. “Cut it, then, if you’re so inclined.”

“I don’t want to,” she answered with a stubborn grin. She slid her fingers from her half-finished work to hold him at the temples. It was strange to touch him like that. His head felt heavy, even braced as it was against the back of his chair. It made her hands look small — and pale, as well, against the rich color of his hair. 

“Mhm.” She couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed. It didn’t matter, really. Her fingers strayed from their spot to trace the thin skin at the corners of his eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve met anyone with eyes the color of yours before,” she told him. She watched as their dark pupils shifted in the gloom. It wasn’t just the color that made them strange, she realized. When he stared at her like that it was as if he could see right through her; but not just in the way that made it difficult for her to lie to him but in one that made her feel as if she weren’t truly there at all. It was an uncomfortable sensation to find herself submitted to, no matter how lovely they were. Still, he offered her no respite in return; kept staring, unblinking, until she was forced to turn away.

He sat forward, then, and returned seamlessly to his book. She began to pick at his braids again in an effort to settle her nerves. A bitter pinch had begun to build in her stomach. Why couldn’t she look at him in that way, too? Somehow she knew he had figured out each of her little mysteries already, but to her he was still a riddle without a punch-line.

It wasn’t fair.

“Vehvan,” she started again after some time.

“Hm?” The last of his braids came unfurled. She ran her fingers through the loose length of his hair. Even unbraided it had kept the shape of its old crimp in the form of waves that trailed just beyond the squares of his shoulder blades.

“Do you think that I am a bad person?” The chair creaked as he turned to face her.

“What kind of question is that?” She frowned and stared at her toes. Silent, he reached forward to grip her arm. She let him draw her forward until she felt the edge of the desk against her back.

“I think that Link is a kind man,” he continued once he saw that she had no intention of looking up again. “And brave, and above all other things, devoted to you. He’s earned most of that on his own, but that isn’t to say that the men who came before him didn’t share the same traits. And each one of those men has killed enough to fill a graveyard, and kings besides — thieves or otherwise. According to this,” he nodded at the book spread open, “shedding all of that blood made him a hero. What’s complicated is that it all depends on whose penned those words, doesn’t it? And, in his case, on who directed his hand as well. Those are the terms of the world we live in. With those sorts of rules, who can really be good or bad at all — and who can possibly judge anyone impartially?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled stubbornly. He leaned forward. Even sitting he barely needed to tip his chin to meet her gaze. He was close enough for her to feel his breath stirring against her skin.

“No,” he sighed. “I don’t think that you are a bad person.” He leaned further forward towards her until she found herself perched atop the desk. She shivered as she felt his hands run the length of her legs. The silk of her skirt crested at his knuckles, following the draw of his fingers until it was crumpled at her hips.

“But to be honest with you,” he told her, his words hot against the skin of her thigh, “it wouldn’t make a difference to me if you were.”

“Ah,” was all she could muster in reply. He’d snuck from his seat to kneel before her, slung her shins against his shoulders. She buried her fingers in the thick tumble of his hair as his mouth trailed higher.

 _Is that the trick to it, then?_ Her thoughts began to tumble together. She hooked the heel of her right foot over the ankle of the other and shuddered as she drew him closer. _Is that how you look through me?_

After all, she supposed that, in the end, she’d find the same answer if she were to ask him that question as well — not that he was a good person, perhaps, but that it didn’t really matter. _Ah._ A moan built low in her throat. She gripped against the desktop as his tongue pressed deeper inside her. The ancient pages beneath her began to rip from their spine. The sound of them tearing made her only more desperate to draw him closer in. 


	11. Swimming with Sharks

“Everything will be alright.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to reassure her. Each line he’d fed her had been sweet but did little to settle her nerves. She sighed and parted the curtains veiling the carriage’s window, aching for the feel of fresh air again.

Jerek cleared his throat and shared a quick glance with his sister — or his chaperone, to be more precise. She had been placed with Impa in their car that morning. The second Sheikah sat at the bench across from her, her knees nearly bouncing against her own. Zelda wished that she could have convinced her father that such surveillance was unnecessary. Even with two passengers the car was suffocating; with four, a torture. Still, she’d had too little time to say much of anything to the king that morning before he’d made his sudden retreat home.

 _There has been an attack_ , he’d told her, his cool voice mismatched to the dire news. More of the same wicked creatures that had sought her out before. This time there had been no one to scare them off, and although the royal guard had made a proper show of hacking them to pieces the rumor was that the forests surrounding the capital were full of many more. _Naturally_ , he’d continued on, _I must return. We cannot leave our people alone to brave a siege_.

Part of her wanted to be relieved to throw off his yoke, but she could not shake the fear that her father was doing nothing more than running head-first into a trap. She’d argued the same, which naturally he’d laughed off and paired with a condescending frown. _It seems you still have much to learn about wearing a crown_ , he’d told her, and that had been the last of it before he’d shared a stale parting with her and left her behind. He’d charged her with the completion of their tour — no doubt to keep her from stumbling at his heels as he did whatever it was a king did when they were besieged. It made her feel useless and frightened. She hated feeling that way.

Her eyes settled on the pair of horses flanking their car. Link’s face was flush from the heat. She knew that he must have been desperate to throw off the heavy weave of his uniform but, naturally, the pomp of their retinue could never be sacrificed for something as superficial as sweating to death. Vehvan faired far better. Even with his dark tunic he looked as though he was trotting through a crisp autumn morning instead of a summer afternoon. His hair — pulled into a simple tail thanks in large part to the fact that she’d cursed him to fill the night before with the task of searching for a new reading instead of fixing his braids — was tidy in contrast to the dripping mess of Link’s own shaggy locks.

The Gerudo was fiddling with something. His hands free from their usual place at his stallion’s neck, only the grip of his long legs kept him astride. The sight of him made her mind wander. She skimmed the curve of her lips with her pinky finger as she wondered if she could do the same to him as he had done to her the evening before. She’d heard rumors of it before, of course, from friendships made with the kitchen girls when she’d been younger. They had been coarse enough to share that sort of thing with her — stories of what women did when they were wicked and relegated to brothels. They’d all blushed and giggled at the notion, then, as if it had been some sinister fairy tale. Now it made her blush as well, but didn’t seem as outlandish as before.

A chill settled on her nape as she realized that she was being watched. She glanced from the window to catch Janna’s eyes on her. The Sheikah smiled. There was something in the gesture that left her feeling naked.

“In any case,” Jerek continued, “there can be no doubt that the capital has the force required to repel any attack. And my father has sent along a contingent as well, you know. I’m familiar with the men — they are the best we have to offer which, if I can be too proud, is no small feat.”

“Yes,” she replied, realizing that to remain mute any longer would be cruel, “quite right.”

“So I do hope you won’t worry yourself too terribly.” His face was pinched into a frown. He looked honest, she realized, no matter how trite his words. The poor fool.

“Tell me,” she offered, “have you visited with the Zora much before?”

“Indeed I have,” he answered, brightening with her sudden willingness to engage. “What a fascinating people, are they not? And I understand that you are closely acquainted with the chancellor’s daughter, is that right?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “Princess Aluto and I have been dear friends since we were just little girls. Of course, at that time she was already twice my age,” she admitted with light laughter, “but even then she weathered all of my silly little games until I’d grown enough to be a proper friend. She is my sister in everything but name.”

“How lovely,” Jerek’s own sister interjected. “You must be so excited to see her. How long has it been since you’ve met with her last?”

“Three seasons. She visited with the last spring harvest festival, do you remember?”

“Yes, of course,” Janna replied, clapping her hands at the memory. “What a creature. How pleased I would be if you would be willing to introduce me to her.”

“Of course.” Zelda’s eyes wandered as she spotted Jerek thumbing the pile of books in his lap. He was quick to grow bored, she noted with a smile. There was something charming in how desperately he wished to excuse himself from their gossiping to dive into the pages.

“Tell me,” she asked him. “What has the good brother prepared for you?” His lips broke into a toothy smile.

“Oh, it is the most fascinating collection, princess. Although I do have to admit I was a bit disappointed at first. Brother Vehvan mentioned to me yesterday that he had a rare edition that I have been searching for far longer than I’d care to admit. It seems as though he had misremembered, but I am still quite satisfied by what he’s brought instead.”

“I’m sure he will be happy to bring it to you when we return home,” Zelda offered carelessly. She regretted the words after she’d said them. _Home_. Yes, she supposed it would be his home as well, soon. She wondered if her father would force her to abandon her rooms for the lofty set at the tail end of the floor he had henceforth dominated alone. Well, but it must have been lonely up there, she supposed, empty except for him ever since her mother had died.

 _Or_. She picked at her skirts as she let her mind wander. Or was he like her, and with an appetite for mistresses? It wasn’t unthinkable. He hadn’t been particularly young even when she was first born, but that sort of thing didn’t seem to be so important when age was on a man’s side. Surely some women found his white beard handsome, and his crown doubly so. Did he have secret passages for them, or were they escorted up the stairs into his chambers like midnight emissaries? How many were there? How long had they served him? Had they warmed his bed even when her mother was alive? And, if so, had she known about them — smelled them on his skin when he came to kiss her goodnight? And had she wept at the idea, or had it been a relief?

Her eyes settled on Jerek again as he chattered on, summarizing some passage for her as he flipped through the borrowed books. It would not be a relief for him, she knew, although she would never dare ask him the question. She wanted to be sad. To feel guilty, like she had before, when he’d bared his heart to her on the porch outside of his childhood home. But now she found her stomach bare of those gripping, icy fingers. Instead she simply felt stifled from the heat, and cornered by the prospect of the war brewing at her back, and annoyed by the constant burble of his gentle voice. It wasn’t good. Soon her tolerance would turn to resentment, and how would she temper him then?

She sighed as quietly as she could manage and forced her lips into another smile.

* * *

“Zel-da!” While she had largely been ignored with her arrival to Kakariko, their welcome to Zora’s Domain was of a different sort entirely. She found herself swept into Princess Aluto’s arms before she’d had a chance to root both of her feet onto the holdfast’s slick stones. Her head swum as the Zora rocked her from side to side. She smelled like the sea — briny and clean. If they had been alone perhaps she would have let herself linger there, her cheek pressed against the cool skin of her breast, but even she was savvy enough to not let Jerek adopt any welcome responsibilities on her father’s behalf.

“Princess Aluto,” she greeted her as she wrenched herself from her grip. “How generous you are, as always, and how pleased I am to see you.”

“My little pearl,” Aluto bubbled happily, foregoing protocol — as always — as she caressed her cheek. “And how cruel you’ve been in ignoring me for so long.”

“Oh, Aluto,” Zelda sighed, laughing. “It wasn’t that at all. I trust you’ve been informed about the king’s early departure? You can imagine he was disappointed to not make the visit himself.”

“Yes.” Aluto pouted. “We understand, of course. How terrible this whole business is. Still, Father was so excited to see him again. Although I suppose he will have a consolation prize.” Her eyes settled on Link, who had positioned himself a polite distance away. His cheeks were dark with a sunburn from their ride, but they burned deeper still as he looked away from her gaze. Zelda caught an amused sparkle in the Zora’s eye before she turned to her again.

“Come on, then. Father will greet you more properly inside. You know how difficult it is for him to get around. Poor old man. If it had been up to him he would have welcomed you six paces from the capital itself, but I’ve made him sit and behave. How was your ride? Terrible? This heat is a misery. Even the water is hot. I hate it. If I wanted to boil I would live in Eldin, isn’t that right?”

“Aluto.”

“And you must be positively suffering wearing all of that. You know you needn’t bother here. How terribly droll.”

“ _Aluto_.”

“Eh?” The Zora caught herself too late. Typical. Zelda fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“I’d like to introduce you to my betrothed,” she offered, raising her eyebrows at her to remind her of the reason for their visit.

“Oh, right. Of course. My, I’m not so good at these games, am I?” Aluto laughed. The sound of it was a perfect imitation of water burbling in a brook; a pretty thing, if not for the sharpness of her teeth. Everything about her was like that — pretty and sharp-edged. She took after her father in many ways, from the ruby-red of her scaled skin to her warm humor and unpolished wit, and although she did not have his sharkish looks — her own features more akin to some magnificent jellyfish, the way her head was crowned with those strange tendrils of hers that trailed over her shoulders like some regal veil — she had all the hidden strength of one.

Jerek seemed to catch it. He bowed stiffly in her direction as she seized upon him and, bobbing up again, seemed ill at ease. She laughed once more, perhaps pleased to find herself at the top of the food-chain, and cupped his shoulders like a matron comforting her pupil.

“Hello, little Yiga.”

“Aluto,” Zelda chided her again.

“Are you certain about him?” Aluto ignored her as she looked him over. “He’s too pretty to be a king.”

“Princess,” Jerek managed miserably. It didn’t seem clear even to him which one of them he meant. Zelda swallowed a groan and danced forward to rescue him.

“Oh, he doesn’t deserve that,” she snipped as she took hold of his hand. “Come on. She’s just playing with you. Let’s go greet the chancellor. He’ll be far better behaved.”

Her heart sunk as she realized he’d taken the opportunity to thread his fingers with hers. It would have caused a scene to snatch her hand away again — and something worse, for certainly Aluto would have caught it and announced her rebuke to the world — and so she weathered it instead. His palm was hot against her own as they followed Aluto into the gemstone hold.

“Princess!” Chancellor Sidon’s deep voice boomed from the depths of the central hall far before she’d even stepped inside its bowed entry. A broad smile tugged at her lips. Better that she’d worn a stern, proud look like her father always did. _You must always remind them that you are of a different world_ , he’d often instructed her; _not a woman, really, nor even nobility, but an imperial princess without compare_. Still, how could she offer a look like that to the jolly behemoth waiting for her? Even her father had allowed Sidon the right to still call his daughter princess (and formally, unlike the conniving Jereks) and to sit upon a throne undeserved by anyone ranked as a chancellor instead of a king. She could at least afford him a smile, she decided stubbornly.

“Father,” Aluto tutted as he made the first move to leap from that throne. When she had been a little girl Zelda had often ridden on the tall mountain of his shoulders, but age had finally caught him as she had grown into a woman true. The Zora insisted he was still unrivaled in the water, but with the weight of dry land pulling at him he could manage little more than the stiff walk to the throne room. She would have pitied him, perhaps, if not for how striking he still looked despite his many years.

The scholars said that no Zora truly ever stopped growing until they found themselves in their watery graves. Sidon seemed to be the perfect study of such an idea. If he lived another decade longer perhaps they would need to carve a notch into the arches of the ceiling so that he could still sit straight and proud.

“Uncle Sidon,” she answered, dancing forward to catch his hand before he rose despite his daughter’s orders. He laughed with pleasure at the old nickname and clapped his free hand over the other. His broad palms covered her own, and her forearms for good measure. Like Aluto, his skin was slick and cool.

“Little princess. Although I suppose you are not so little anymore, are you? You Hylians, it’s always so difficult to tell. Even your father is just a fry.”

“ _Father_ ,” Aluto echoed glumly at his elbow.

“Is he truly back at the capital again?” His face had turned into a frown. Zelda nodded, mimicking the look herself.

“Yes, I am afraid so. You know my father. He is so very cautious with this sort of thing.”

“He is a good king,” Sidon agreed with a sage nod. “And what a queen you will be one day!” A wave of heat spilled over her cheeks as she bowed under his compliment.

“To that point,” she segued awkwardly, “I’m pleased to introduce you to my betrothed.” It wasn’t exactly a full introduction, but she couldn’t possibly manage anything more bloated in such company. She heard Jerek’s footsteps echo across the airy hall as he advanced to stop at her side. Sidon released her to turn his attention on the man.

“I see...” His voice rumbled. The silence that followed grew heavier by the instant. Was she supposed to say something more? Her stomach flipped as she thought, absurdly, of what would happen if Jerek did not pass Sidon’s inspection. Perhaps his teeth were so very sharp for a reason.

“Well,” Sidon boomed out finally with another splash of laughter, “good, then! If Rohneld has agreed to it, he must be a fine man! And you as well, little princess — I’ve never known you to be the type to settle for something undeserved. Ha! If only you were a bit taller, lad. You know, Zelda, Mippo is already—”

“Let’s spare Lord Jerek the details,” Aluto sighed before her father made another attempt at wedding one of his many sons to the Hylian princess. Zelda blushed again and hid her grin behind the bow of her hand. “Come, princess. Let us bathe before dinner begins. Father, I believe Link is outside, if you would like to speak with him while we are gone.”

Aluto’s gamble had paid off. Her father’s face broke into an unrivaled smile. The look of it made Zelda’s chest warm as well as her friend nudged her towards one of the archways running from the throne room like arteries to the holdfast’s heart. She watched one of the manta-headed men at Sidon’s heels trail forward towards Jerek as she moved.

“They’ll take you to your room,” she offered him as Aluto drug her further along. The Yiga’s face turned pink from the sudden bustle.

“V-very good.” His response was buried beneath a booming _Link!_ as the named man was ushered inside. The two princesses shared a laugh as they slipped into the hallway.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Aluto whispered under the guard of her fingers, “but my father has been speaking of nothing but his dear Link since he first received the king’s summons. I believe we are all a bit of a sideshow to him, honestly, your little prince included.”

“I think you’re right.” The duo trailed deeper into the watery palace until they’d come upon the lake again. Zelda shuffled her feet from her shoes and dipped a toe into the water. It was warm, just like Aluto had bemoaned; but, it was still something to savor against the cloying humidity.

“It’s all quite silly, isn’t?” Aluto posited the question as she slipped soundlessly into the water. The wispy tendrils which crowned her head fanned across the water’s surface prettily. “It’s not like he tried to keep it a secret, what with that name of his. And what difference does a sword make, really?”

“I don’t know,” Zelda answered, both a reply and a term of agreement. She began to fiddle with the laces of her dress. It would have been better if Impa had accompanied them in their retreat so that she could have benefitted from a second pair of hands; then again, the Sheikah had always chided her for stripping off her clothes as soon as she arrived in the Domain.

Zelda had always found it absurd to worry herself with so many ruffles and sashes when the Zora themselves strode about proud and bare, but it wasn’t a proposal that Impa seemed eager to accept. They’d reached a compromise with private swimming lessons in the buff. It had been difficult to explain to Aluto’s entourage just why they couldn’t follow them into the cavernous bathing hall but they’d submitted to it all the same — out of fear of Impa’s reprimand, Zelda wagered, if nothing else. 

“I’ve also read that no past hero has had any memory of the life he’s lived before. So, naturally it will be the same with him, don’t you think? I’ve told my father that, of course, but you can imagine just how nicely he listened to me. I’m sure he’ll trap poor Link in there for your entire visit just to see if he can scare out some recognition from him.”

“I think it’s all rather sad, really,” Zelda admitted as she finally freed her arms from her sleeves. She stepped from her skirts next before slowly easing herself into the water. The tension from their ride began to ebb away in the soft current. She kicked her legs against the depths. “To live so many lives, as if none of them really mattered.”

“You don’t remember anything, then?” Aluto swam closer to her, a sly look sprawled across her face. Zelda rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Can you imagine how many times I’ve been asked that question? Forgive me for not playing along with you as well.”

“Nothing has happened, then? Not even after that whole business in the springs?”

“No. You know I don’t like talking about this sort of thing, Aluto. Don’t be cruel.”

“I was just curious, that’s all. Besides, you have a new look to you. I’m just trying to puzzle out what it is.”

“Perhaps it is the glow of a woman betrothed,” Zelda replied dryly. Aluto smirked.

“I know you too well for that. There is too much of your father in this business for me to think that it was your idea.”

“Think what you like.”

“Not that he seems too terrible. Just that he is so _small_.”

“He’s nearly two heads taller than I am, Aluto. It’s not as if he means to marry _you_.”

“Pity him if he were!” She laughed and floated onto her back. “I believe I would eat him alive.”

“And any other man, I’d wager,” Zelda contended as she mirrored the move herself. For a moment she heard nothing other than the steady beating of her heart reverberating in the water. It made her eyelids feel heavy. “Do you ever plan to marry?”

“Not so many of us do,” Aluto answered dreamily. It wasn’t to say that she had not had lovers herself. Zelda had learned early that their people were not as restrained with the pleasures of the flesh as their Hylian counterparts. Although she supposed that it was a far less complicated business when one laid eggs. “I don’t know. Perhaps. It’s not as if I am without affection, you know.”

“I don’t think that’s terribly necessary.”

“Oh.” Aluto flicked a palmful of water at her. “Don’t be so gloomy. You were always the one with those terrible novels, weren’t you? So take your dashing prince and be satisfied, for once.” She studied her for a moment with her strange, reptilian eyes. “Would you like me to teach you?”

“Hm? Teach me what, exactly?”

“How to be satisfied.” Zelda’s breath caught in her throat. She righted herself and focused on treading water. “Don’t look like that. It’s important, you know. You Hylians are all so inexperienced. What a waste, don’t you think? There’s no reason for you to be forced to just lay there and let some little tadpole thrash atop you like a salmon swimming upriver.”

“I’d rather not hear your opinion on the matter at all, to be honest,” Zelda mumbled, dipping lower into the water so that it crested at her nose. Aluto laughed.

“If you can’t talk about it with me, then whoever else will possibly be up to the task? Impa? I imagine her advice will be for you to simply grin and bear it. You live far too short a life to submit yourself to that kind of thinking. Let me offer you some of what I’ve learned, at the very least.”

“Aluto,” Zelda groaned miserably. “Enough.”

“Hardly,” Aluto laughed. “It can be quite fun, you know.”

“Alright. I’ve heard you.”

“Although, to be honest, I’m not entirely certain how you are built. Do you—”

“Don’t,” Zelda stuttered, catching that look in Aluto’s eyes that meant she was about to engage in some sort of wild mischief. No doubt she would make an inspection of her herself if she allowed her the discretion. “You’ve said enough already. I understand.”

“Oh, how could you,” Aluto pouted. “You usually aren’t such a prude. What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” Zelda murmured. The Zora eyed her sharply for a second time.

“Zelda,” she breathed suddenly. “You haven’t!”

“What?”

“You are such a _terrible_ liar,” Aluto giggled. She swam closer to her, pinching her chin between her fingers as she gave her a closer look. “Look, look how pink you are. How on earth are you going to manage being queen? That requires quite a bit of dishonesty as well, you know.” Zelda bucked her head from the woman’s grip.

“You’ve had your fun in teasing me,” she snapped in reply. “So enough with it, already.”

“And yet I’ve told you all of _my_ secrets long ago.” Zelda was very nearly convinced by Aluto’s theatric frown. “It isn’t very fair. But no wonder he looks at you that way.”

“Who?”

“Your prince, of course. You know, there is a little fish,” Aluto prattled on, miming the swimming of some finned creature with the waggle of her fingers, “no longer than my thumb. They’re nothing much to look at and less to be fearful of, but the poor creatures have quite the appetite. So, what do they do? They find a bigger fish and live beneath their fins to catch all of the scraps they cast off.”

“Hm,” Zelda replied, already confused by whatever half-fable the Zora intended to share.

“You might be little, princess, but you’re still like me — a shark, you know, in a school of things to eat.” Aluto grinned, the sharp points of her teeth glittering in the Domain’s blue light. “And how satisfied your prince looks to have stolen a bite from you.”

“Oh,” Zelda stuttered, having finally grown wise to Aluto’s insinuation. “No. Listen. Those sorts of rumors are dangerous, especially now. That isn’t it at all. There will be no _thrashing about_ until we’re properly married, I can promise you that. Don’t you say anything otherwise.” Aluto sunk glumly beneath the surface.

“Really? Well then, what use am I?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Zelda sighed as she spun to hunt out solid ground again.

“You won’t listen to my advice,” Aluto moped in her wake, “and you won’t tell me what you’ve done. Have I fallen that far from your favor?”

“Aluto.” Zelda eased her way onto the bank again and stood to wring the water from her hair. “I love you. You know that. Don’t act like a child.”

“You’re so very mean anymore,” Aluto insisted as she followed after her. She reached forward to grab at Zelda’s arm, rubbing her cheek against her like a dog hunting out a reassuring pat. “What has the capital done to you?”

“I’m not mean. I just have no interest in bearing the brunt of your gossip. Come. Help me dress, would you?” Aluto perked at the invitation.

“Alright. I’ve found some pearls for you, you know, even if you don’t deserve them. They would look so lovely in your hair.” She had always loved to dress Zelda up like a doll. Perhaps it was because she found it unbearable to wear much of anything against her own scaled skin — or maybe it was just that they were all only playthings, really, to those giant Zora with their seemingly endless lives. She tried not to think on the notion too deeply as she pulled on her dress again.

“Whatever you like,” Zelda agreed, relieved to have escaped Aluto’s elegy on lovemaking, if only for the afternoon. They strolled towards the guest rooms at the hold’s southern wing. A tall figure stood in their path, his arms cocked at his hips as he stared up at the vaulting ribs of the hallway with appreciation.

“Vehvan!” She skipped forward towards him. “I’m sorry, I rather left you behind, didn’t I?” An easy smile lighted on his lips. It looked as though he had just made his way from the stables. She picked a wisp of hay from his collar.

“So you’ve brought your tutor with you, have you?” There was a coy pitch to Aluto’s voice.

“Yes,” Zelda answered quickly, catching her breach of etiquette too late. “Vehvan, you remember Princess Aluto, of course.” The Zora dipped at the knees, her fingers grabbing at an invisible hemline with a mimed curtsy. He bowed neatly in return. “Alright, enough. The capital hasn’t spoiled him yet. No need for those charades.”

“I see.” Aluto made to step forward herself. Zelda cut her short with a quick turn at her heels. “Here’s to hoping that he stays fresh for some time, then.”

“Hm,” Zelda quickly added before Aluto strung him into a more proper conversation. “Let’s not linger, now, or your father will be forced to dine with Link alone, and even a man like him likely won’t survive _that_. Don’t bother with anything too stuffy, Brother — as you can see, the Zora aren’t much for formalwear.” It was perhaps a foolish thing to say, considering that his wardrobe was nearly identical from end to end. He shrugged his shoulders and nodded.

“As you wish.” He nodded as they continued down the hall. Zelda watched him as they left; decided, with a half-smile, that she liked the look of his long hair, after all.

* * *

“Let’s try this.” 

“Oh, Aluto,” Zelda groaned as she eyed the little tin of rouge. “No.”

“Please?” Aluto crouched at her feet and gripped at her dressing gown, casting a pitiful expression in her direction as she cocked her chin to the side. “It comes off with water, you know — it’s not like I can wear it.”

“I’m not just some bauble you can paint at your leisure, you know. And what do you know about this sort of thing? You’ll make me look like a harlot.”

“Even better,” Aluto grinned. “Isn’t that the idea?”

“No.”

“Now, come on, you owe me this much. Three seasons, Zelda — you call me your sister, and then you leave me alone for three whole seasons to play with that little swordsman of yours instead.” Zelda eyed her stonily. She supposed there was some truth in what she’d said. She’d never neglected the Zora like that before — sent her letters, at the very least, when her father grew tired of her eastward jaunts. Not that it had been Link’s fault, really, but she’d hardly tell her that.

“Fine,” she sighed after another beat. Aluto cried out in pleasure. She was quick to dip her fingers into the tin, and then in smearing them against her lips.

“Ah, don’t — that’s bitter!”

“You’re not supposed to eat it,” Aluto chided her with another giggle. “There. It looks pretty. Let me put it on your cheeks as well. I’ve heard that some women put it on the lobes of their ears, too. Shall I?”

“No.”

“Fine, fine.” At least she knew when to cut her losses. Aluto worried over her like a painter at her canvas, stepping forwards and back to eye her handiwork as she dabbed on the rouge and fixed the cascade of pearls she’d strung around her. “Lovely. You look like a little flower.”

“Fantastic,” Zelda grumbled, blushing. It wasn’t that she minded the pomp of it all, really, but for once it would have been nice not to have been manhandled.

“You should wear blue, of course,” Aluto continued cheerily, standing from her crouch. “I think I saw something in your trunk. Ah, yes. Pretty. I like this one. You wore it on your nineteenth birthday, didn’t you? It even made Link a little clumsy, if I remember correctly.”

“Mhm.” Aluto pulled the dress from the trunk and snapped it in the air. Its layered skirts fluttered open as she swung them above her head.

“How is our hero doing, by the way?”

“Better,” she answered her honestly, relieved to seize upon a new topic of conversation. “He’s come to terms with everything, I think. Of course, we’re all nervous about what might come next. Still, he’s... He’s a good man, you know.” Aluto nodded.

“He’d die for you.”

“I’d rather not put it like that.” Zelda frowned.

“Right. You know, I’ve read that it was not unheard of for the hero to marry his princess, at least in the past.” Zelda groaned at the Zora’s mischievous tone. “Have you ever...?”

“No, Aluto. Come now. He’s like a brother to me. And maybe one by blood, if all of that is true.”

“That’s not stopped your sort before.”

“Don’t be crude.”

“I’m just being honest.” Aluto draped the dress over the swooping frame of Zelda’s bed before turning to sit beside her again on the floor. She plucked her arm from her lap and patted her hand tenderly. “It’s better though, probably — better not to complicate it like that.”

“Yes.”

“And is that good brother of yours a _brother_ , too?”

“What?” Zelda’s mouth grew dry. Aluto kissed her knuckles.

“I like him,” she answered, her voice turning wolffish again.“He’s no little fish himself, is he? Just a monster.”

“Aluto... He’s a monk,” Zelda contested uneasily. Aluto tipped her head to stare up at her. Her lips pulled into a smile. Zelda’s eyes settled on the knifepoint of her canines.

“That’s where they hide, isn’t it? In the places they think we can’t see.”

* * *

There was dancing that night. Zelda would have run from it if it wouldn’t have devastated Aluto’s feelings. The Zora princess reveled in the bustle of it all, zipping from her roles as an impromptu conductor over the musicians she’d gathered to sweep across the dance floor with a dozen different partners. Link trailed at her heels throughout the night, looking more hopeless at every measure until even Aluto could weather it no longer and humored him with a dance himself. He led her valiantly in a series of stiff circles; not the best dancer, by any stretch of the imagination, but good enough not to tread on her toes.

Zelda grinned as she watched them pirouette across the transformed throne room. Impa was at her side, a silent sentinel to protect her honor against the frivolity of the after-dinner soirée. She was surprised to suddenly feel her step back from her position until she saw Jerek’s silver hair weaving through the crowd.

“Princess,” he greeted her nicely, head bowed. She nodded in his direction as well. Her stomach sunk as he extended his hand. “Perhaps you would humor me with a dance?”

“Of course,” she answered stiffly. He smiled and closed his fingers around hers. The swirling crowd parted before them as they sought out a spot on the dance floor. Having spotted her golden hair among the sea of shining scales, Aluto’s musicians strummed their current sonata to an end to stir a more fitting waltz to life. _Always conniving, wasn’t she?_ Zelda swallowed a sigh and drew her hand against his shoulder.

He was a good dancer. So was she. She supposed they were bred for it, really. There was some fun in it, although she found it difficult to accept in light of her stubborn commitment to remaining morose. He turned her deftly in his hands, sending her into different turns and spins as he noted her skill until she felt the weight of the room’s eyes on her shoulders. Yes, what a sight they must have been, she wagered — gold and silver against the endless blue of the Domain, and dwarfed against the Zora like music-box figurines.

She laughed, finally, as the song began its final booming measure and Jerek surprised her with a swooping dip. His eyes were on hers as he righted her to her feet again. She read his intentions plainly but was too slow in fighting them off — and then he’d kissed her, quick and darting, like a schoolboy stealing a peck.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, blushing. The crowd cooed and giggled with pleasure at the showing before they were distracted by the rising wave of the next song. “It’s just that you look so lovely, princess.”

“It’s alright.” She smiled, left her fingers lingering at his shoulder. It was an easy enough scene to choreograph; naturally, she’d read it countless times before in all of her stories about lovesick princes and princesses. She forced her chin into a coquettish nod before releasing him to trail away. Even Impa couldn’t chide her for that. A perfect display, just like their dancing. More than enough to entertain the court. Just like her father wanted, she realized darkly. She hunted out a glass of the Zora’s delicate plum wine to settle the bitter lurching in her chest.

* * *

A late-night thunderstorm found its way into the Domain by the time she’d finally managed an escape back to her room. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d heard thunder there before. It echoed like a roar inside the cavernous holdfast.

She carefully plucked the pearls from her hair and collected them into a crystal dish waiting for her at her dressing table. The rouge came next, smeared against the butt of her palm as she did her best to erase Aluto’s handiwork. And where was that wicked princess now, she wondered — had Link finally managed to charm her, or would she find the swordsman full of heartbreak and a wine-fueled headache in the morning? Poor fellow, she thought next, her lips moving into a frown.

Her mind wandered to the final member of her tiny entourage. Usually so even-keeled, Vehvan always seemed to be thrust into a bitter mood when the weather turned. Perhaps the booming thunder frightened him the way it did her. She smiled at that idea — but, what on earth could possibly frighten him, anyway? A monster, Aluto had called him; well, very well. Perhaps he was, at least in the way that the Zora always seemed to look at the world in the simplest terms of big fish eating the smaller ones.

That thought left her feeling a little hungry herself. She stood and shrugged her way out of her gown. Another thunderclap boomed as she padded out to the little balcony. All of the guest rooms were like hers; pretty, well-appointed, and paired with a sliver of water outside blocked from the view of the others by tall, fin-shaped walls.

As a girl, she and Aluto had staged races between the pools, diving deep enough to slip beneath where the walls ended in the depths. She’d never won, of course — to be frank, she was surprised that Aluto had managed to trick her into a race at all — but at least she’d developed quite the skill of holding her breath. A new idea threaded through her mind as she stepped into the water. She dove until her chest began to burn.

 _There_. She made her way to the neighboring pool and peeked slowly over the surface of the water to spy who had been placed there. Her pulse quickened triumphantly as she spotted a tall shadow against the curtains of the balcony doors. Swimming closer to the sloping pad which lead into the water, she hunted out a smooth-worn bit of shell and tossed it at the glass. It took two more afterwards to finally lure the shadow towards the doors.

“Hello,” she greeted Vehvan in a half-whisper. His brows raised with surprise as he peeked at her from between the doors.

“What are you doing out there?” She backpedaled into the water until it was deep enough to bob weightlessly again.

“Do you know how to swim?” Her question taunted him further outside.

“No,” he answered, his tone difficult to interpret. So she had been right, had she? Bothered by the storm again. She sent an armful of water splashing in his direction.

“Here. I’ll teach you. The basics, at least. Don’t worry. No one will hear us.” The Domain’s countless waterfalls would protect the murmur of their voices from snooping ears — and thank goodness for them, really, or the latter half of her plan would surely fail. He eyed her, unconvinced.

“Come on,” she continued stubbornly. “You’ve been running from me all day. It isn’t very nice.”

“ _Yetta ne ya_.” _I wasn’t_. He muttered the words as he finally submitted, his arms crossing over his chest to pull his tunic from his shoulders. She smiled. Sometimes he was nothing but a child. Or almost, she quickly amended, as she watched him casually undress. Maybe parts of him were Zora, too, and entirely unimpressed by the idea of nakedness. She wasn’t the same, of course — didn’t mind the rush from admiring the look of him as he strode towards her. 

“Go on then,” she teased him in his mother tongue as he shuffled into the water. He was not yet won over. She decided that she found his moodiness quite sweet. “Come on. You’ll be able to go far deeper without needing to swim. Don’t worry. I won’t let you drown.”

The water sloshed as he continued deeper. His childish frown had nearly disappeared as well — perhaps she’d charmed him, finally, as she paddled to his side — until he was caught unaware by the sudden drop of the sloping shore and disappeared.

A peal of laughter spilled from her lips, even though she knew it wasn’t proper and hardly polite. It was joined by Vehvan’s sputtering as he sloshed backwards towards the shallows again.

“Your arms—” she managed between each laughing breath, “you need to move your arms. And your legs. Come on. Like this. Vehvan!” He glowered at her from beneath the dripping red curtain of his hair. She pushed him further inland until he was at a depth where he could sit, the water pooling around the twin islands of his shoulders. “You really are from the desert, aren’t you?” She floated into his lap, slicking back his hair with a consolatory swipe of her hand.

“You’ve done this on purpose,” he grumbled as she worked.

“Yes. Maybe,” she admitted with a grin. “Give me this, at least — one thing I can best you at.”

“Hm.” The pleasant warmth in her stomach grew stronger as she felt his arms drift around her waist. _No more thunder_ , an idle voice noted as she wiped a speck of slimy seaweed from his cheek.

“I’ll forgive you for neglecting me,” she continued in a teasing sing-song, “as long as you do the same for me.”

“You’re a _proper princess_ , aren’t you?” He unearthed the phrase from their prior conversation with the cocking of his brow. “I don’t believe that I can refuse.”

“Right. Good. Finally you understand.” She leaned forward to kiss him. It was a selfish thing — a means to forget Jerek’s quick attempt at the same earlier that evening. Maybe Vehvan sensed it; or, worse, maybe he had seen. His own kiss back was less tender than it was demanding. She welcomed it eagerly regardless, and his hands as well as he pulled her shallower until she was at a spot where he could push her back against the smooth stone of the slope without submerging her.

His hand trailed between her knees. _Don’t just lie there_ , Aluto’s lilting voice teased her from before. So much for her lessons, she thought — and yet there was something to it, all the same. She hardly wanted to waste his eagerness with inattention. Not that she knew exactly what it was she was supposed to do. She mimicked him the best she could, one hand resting on the tensed barrel of his thigh and the other, bolder, reaching further still.

A husky sound drifted from his throat. His skilled fingers earned him a far more generous moan of her own. She shuddered as she felt the edge of his teeth against her collarbone.

“Please,” she gasped into his ear before he had the chance to deny her the request; before he pulled back to explain how dangerous it was to continue on, before she had to agree with him that their night together in Kakariko had been risky enough. Fingers and mouths were fine — exquisite, really, her jumbling thoughts insisted — but that wasn’t what she wanted.

Just like he’d promised, he obeyed.

“Ah!” She gripped at his slick shoulders. Suddenly it was easy to forget everything except for the feel of him — no more silver-haired siblings haunting her, or her father’s heavy demands, or even Aluto’s teasing and the crestfallen swordsman she always left behind. Wasn’t it better that way? “Yes... ah... Vehvan!”

“Don’t.” The sudden order left her frozen.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he breathed, kissing her again until he had convinced her. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry.” She should have protested — insisted that he share just what it was that had suddenly leapt between them in that stubborn way she‘d always managed before, but then he’d moved his hips again and found some deep part of her that chased away her curiosity like the crashing of a bell. A bell or waves or... or, _whatever_ , her cloudy mind insisted as she was filled with pleasure again. Whatever it was that made up monsters and turned them into men. 


	12. Imperial

They’d overstayed their welcome.

That wasn’t the proper word, really; for one, it had been Aluto’s idea to linger in the Domain, at least at first. _Let’s not be too rash_ , she’d begged the Hylian princess over her lavish welcome dinner — _we can hardly go to Eldin with the weather like this. Wait until the heat breaks_ , she’d proposed next, and Zelda had found it difficult to argue. She’d written to her father about the proposal and received a tepid agreement back in the form of a short, scrawled letter which read “whichever — do behave”.

And then there had been the matter of Sidon, so bewitched with Link that the duo rarely left the throne room — and was Link taken by him as well, she had at first wondered, or simply well mannered? Of course, he’d never been the perfect gentleman with her, and so she quickly saw the same when she interrupted one of the Zora chancellor’s stories to invite them to dinner and found them both teary-eyed from laughter.So they were content to linger as well.

Moreover, there was the matter of her room, so conveniently placed as it was, and Impa’s unusual restraint in monitoring her every move. The Domain was safe — even the stern Sheikah had to admit as much, and perhaps even she enjoyed the occasional languid soak in one of the kingdom’s many sparkling pools as much as the rest of them.

All together, therefore, the Domain itself and all of its pleasantries had been the answer to her over-eager guard. It was there, still dripping from her swim between the rooms, that she shared her first full night with Vehvan, waking with the sun still comfortably wrapped between his arms. It was easy to forget the fledgling war with the heat of him pressed against her, the air filled with the quiet metronome of his breathing and the light cinnamon scent of his skin. The sight of him sleeping, his lips slightly parted and his thick brows twitching from a dream, had been enough to bolster her for the endless afternoons she spent suffering at Jerek’s elbow with a smile. _Yes_ , she thought then, and not for the first time; _I can manage all of my little wars, as long as I can retreat back here when I am done_.

Her thoughts lingered on his drowsing once again as she dressed with Aluto following one of their morning swims. She’d lost count of how many times they’d done the same before. Nights in the east had become a little cooler, and their chill had begun to carry over into the dawn. She supposed they would have to leave soon, no matter how much she’d cherished their many days hidden away. If they were not quick with it, their time in Hebra would be unbearably cold.

 _Still_. Could she crawl into his bed in Death Mountain — some rock slab, she imagined with a smirk — and rise with him there as well?

“It’s been so wonderful to have you here,” Aluto told her as Zelda took a seat on a thimble-shaped stool. The Zora ran her fingers through her hair. The scrape of her claws against her scalp made her shiver.

“Yes,” Zelda replied, her voice a light sigh of pleasure at the idea. “You were right, of course. It had been far too long.”

“Of course I was right.” Zelda grinned. She let her eyes close as Aluto combed her damp locks into a pair of loose braids. “I’m your big sister, aren’t I? And big sisters always know what’s best.”

“Yes,” Zelda agreed dreamily.

“I think you should stay here.”

“I wish I could.” She tipped her head backwards, not yet ready to open her eyes again.

“So do it, then. You’re always happy when you’re here. The king will still be king for many years to come. Why return to the capital with all of that ugliness there?”

“It’s not that simple. Besides, it’s important that I visit with the other kingdoms as well.”

“Why?”

“Aluto. You know why. Don’t be greedy.” Aluto sighed.

“Eldin will always follow the capital— you know that. What difference will it make for us to climb up there? And Hebra will never follow the capital any more than is required. You think they care about what little man you plan to marry?”

“Don’t be cruel, either.”

“Still. You know I’m right. And the Free Cities — well, I suppose they are a problem, aren’t they? Always bickering. But let us manage them. They’ve listened to us before.”

“They’re not part of the Domain,” Zelda insisted, reminded of the many times that the Zora had quietly proposed a widening of their borders before. Aluto huffed.

“In any case, you are more precious than any castle, princess. So stay here where you are safe.”

“I am safe as long as I have my friends.” She turned to take Aluto’s hand between her own. “You, and Link, and Impa, and even Jerek, in his own way. No matter where I go, I know that you will all protect me.”

“Of course,” Aluto pouted. “But will you be free as well?” Zelda frowned at the sudden glumness of her tone.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I know—”

They were interrupted by a rapping at the door.

“Yes? What is it?” Aluto glared grumpily at the hidden intruder.

“Is the princess with you?” Zelda stiffened at Impa’s voice. Not just that it was hers, but that it was pitched — worried.

“What is it?” This time it was her turn to ask the question. She stood from her seat and danced forward to open the door. Impa stared back at her, her eyes downcast. “What’s happened?”

“There has been an accident, princess,” Impa replied. “My understanding is that Lord Jerek arranged a riding party this morning along with some of the other men. A band of thieves descended upon them in the Tabahl Woods. Link was there to protect them, but they were greatly outnumbered. Lord Jerek was thrown from his horse in the melee.” Zelda cupped her fingers over her mouth.

“Oh, no. Is he alright? Has he returned?”

“Yes. Lady Janna is seeing to him. She’s told me that his shoulder was pulled from the socket, but that she’s set it right again.” Zelda winced at the diagnosis.

“How terrible. And Link?”

“I’ve seen him myself — bruises, some cuts, but nothing he’s unfamiliar with.” A wave of relief crested between her collarbones.

“Thank goodness.” Her relief was short-lived. There was something else, wasn’t there? She eyed Impa more closely. “And..?”

“The good brother rode with them as well.” Her breath became a ring of thorns inside her throat.

“What is it, then? What’s happened to him?” Impa opened her mouth for an answer and closed it again without speaking. Zelda’s heart crashed against her ribs as she shouldered past her into the hall.

“Princess!” She wasn’t certain which one of them it was to cry out after her. It didn’t matter. She knew the Domain well. How many times had she been brought to the clinic hall before, her knees bruised from tumbles down the rocky cliff-side, or her lips turned blue from swimming too long in its icy lagoons? Her feet slapped against the smooth stone beneath her as she tumbled through the passageways.

 _Stupid idiot_. Her eyes blurred. She could already imagine what had happened. The three of them setting off with the morning sun — Jerek watching with bald-faced admiration at the storied hero at his side, or perhaps at the monstrous steed of the other man who had become his companion. Link would have been the only one between them to have been armed. Outnumbered, Impa had said; she pictured them, next, at the heart of a ring of shadow-faced men with curving swords.

What would he have done? What _could_ he have done? That man who refused even to kill a hare for his supper-pot — did he try to stare down those bandits like he’d done the monsters before, only to find that they insisted he was, in fact, their prey?

“Oh,” she breathed as she turned another corner, her shoulders hitching from her harried pace. Oh, but what would she do now? It was too cruel. Nothing had even begun, yet — not the war, not even her marriage. So how could she possibly face them alone? _Vehvan, please. No._

She came upon the doors into the clinic hall just as Impa paced her. They barreled together into the room. Link and Janna were there to greet them, standing guard before a long line of curtained beds. Both of them looked grey.

“Where is he?” The curtains to Jerek’s bed had been drawn. She spotted his silver hair first. Both Link and Janna glanced to another spot instead, hidden behind its drawn cloth.

“It’s alright,” Link insisted as he strode forward to intercept her. _So then why do you look like that_? She moved to shove him from her path, but he was too strong for that. “Zel. He’s sleeping.”

“Sleeping?” She wrenched her arm from his grip and nearly tumbled to her knees before lurching forward again. “Show me!”

The duo winced but made no move to obey. She ignored them both as she leapt forward to rip the curtains apart. A ragged gasp slipped through her lips as she spotted him there — yes, and there Vehvan was, as if he had been transported from her memories of that morning when she’d woken first. He looked as peaceful as he had then.

“Janna’s given him something to sleep,” Link chattered on, his voice hollow. “He won’t wake up just yet.” He made a move to grip her hand again. She slipped her fingers free of his and surged on to grip at Vehvan’s sheets. So they wouldn’t tell her, would they? Is this how they meant to protect her? To keep everything ugly hidden from her sight, even if it was something like this?

_I’m not a child!_

She wrenched the sheets sideways. Her eyes danced over him, cataloguing every familiar shape — his chest was bare but free of anything fearsome, neither burn nor gash nor bruise; his legs, still clad in the dark trousers he’d hunted from his trunk that morning but not splayed at any broken angle; his hands and feet, even, naked too, but looking no different than they had before.

“What is it?” She hiccuped the words as she drew her fingers along his arm. His skin was warm. Was it worse, then? She’d heard of things like that before — knights pulled from battle who didn’t bleed but were already in their grave. Had he been thrown from his horse as well? _Impossible_ , she thought, but maybe not; and had his long, proud spine been broken when he had, so that he would never wake again?

“It’s nothing.” Janna spoke the words at her side. Her voice was low, nearly a whisper. “I was wrong. He’s fine.”

“What?” Zelda gaped up at her, the tears breaking from her lashes as she did to spill over her cheeks. Janna winced a smile.

“There’s nothing wrong with him. Nothing. Not a scratch. He will wake by the evening. It’s nothing, princess; just a mistake.” Her knees buckled.

“Oh,” Zelda sobbed, hiding her face behind her hands. “Oh, thank the goddess.” She pressed her fingers against her eyes — did not see the uneasy look that Link and Janna shared, nor the pallor of Jerek’s face as he watched her kneel at Vehvan’s bedside.

* * *

“Why did you drink it?” Vehvan yawned again and scrubbed at his eyes. 

“I don’t know. I was outmanned. They were very insistent.”

“Still,” Zelda insisted, fighting the urge to wring him by the neck as they walked together from the clinic towards their rooms, “what if it had been a poison?”

“Then I suppose I would have died.”

“That isn’t funny.” She meant to chide him in that dry tone she always used, but her voice betrayed her; turned to a hiccup again as she turned to hide her watering eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, quieter, so that the Zora meandering through the nearby halls would not hear. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” His fingers brushed the underside of her arm — enough to be mistaken for a misplaced touch, but for her it was enough to settle her hammering heart.

“What happened, then?” He shrugged.

“Nothing that unusual. It was over quickly — your guard took care of that. He was a good choice for you.”

“And Jerek?”

“He was valiant as well,” Vehvan insisted with something that almost looked like a grin. “But the bandits were loud, spooked his horse. Anyone would have been tossed like that.”

“Did you fall off of your horse too, then?”

“Something like that.” Their pace slowed as they came upon the twin doors leading into their quarters. “I’m alright,” he promised her, turning to face her. “I won’t leave you, Zelda. Not like that.”

“Is that supposed to be charming?”

“Yes,” he admitted with a smile. She rolled her eyes but smiled as well.

“Well,” she managed, brushing something invisible from her skirts, “I’ll test you on it, then, by leaving you to your own devices for a while. Impa’s cross that I haven’t tended to poor Jerek yet.”

“It’s late.” She followed his glance towards the dark hillside surrounding the Domain.

“Yes, well, and yet a princess’ work is never truly done.”

“It seems that way. Goodnight, then, princess.” He nodded at her neatly before turning to seek out his door. She curtsied in return and wished him farewell, as if they were both naive to the fact that she’d see him again soon. The thought made her smile as she trailed down the hall again.

She was distracted on her return to the clinic by a blue glow glimmering against the arch of a distant bridge. Something told her who it was grasping at one of the Zora’s strange lanterns — filled with an algae that left off a ghostly light like tiny stars — even before she’d spotted the shape of him. Her chest grew tight. She turned and hunted him out.

“Link.” She whispered his name, although she wasn’t quite certain why. His shoulders hunched at her approach. He said nothing as she sat beside him. She dangled her legs over the edge of the bridge, as he had himself, and looked down into the placid stream far below. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” There was something folded at his lap. He stared at it intently, although something in his posture told her that he wasn’t truly looking at it at all. It made her chest ache deeper still. She reached forward and gripped his shoulder.

“Tell me the truth. Impa said that you were hurt.”

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry yourself.”

“You know,” she sighed, her fingers slipping from his shoulder to rub broad circles across his back, “it wasn’t your fault that Jerek fell from his horse.”

“Don’t tease him.” She frowned.

“Yes,” she answered quickly, feeling a little guilty. “You’re right. He’s a good rider. Vehvan told me that it was quite the scene.”

“Is that what he said?”

“He told me that you were,” she hunted for the proper word, “gallant.”

“I wasn’t,” he muttered darkly. She sighed again.

“Oh, Link. You can’t keep doubting yourself like this. How many times have you saved my life already? And now you’ve gone and saved Jerek, too, and Vehvan as well. We’re all in your debt. You need to accept the fact that you’re _good_ at this, my friend.”

“That isn’t what happened.”

“What?” He wrenched the dark cloth at his lap between his fists.

“Zel, I... There were eight of them, all armed to the teeth. Sidon told me that they’ve been bothering the area for seasons. Men from the Free Cities, he said. They weren’t just a band of fools with sticks.”

“I’ll write to my father,” she promised him stonily. “See if we can’t afford to send a company to patrol the hills.”

“It isn’t just that. I... I cut down three of them before Jerek was thrown.”

“You did the right thing,” she interjected. “If you hadn’t stopped them they could have killed them both.”

“No. They’d drawn me too far away. It must have been their plan. They knew that Jerek was a target, dressed the way he was and on that fine horse of his. If I had just kept closer to him, we could have outpaced them, ridden away...”

“Well,” she replied uneasily, “all the same, you’re all alright. That’s all that matters.”

“Two of them circled him when he fell. Vehvan was... he was closer, circled back before I had the chance. That’s when I saw it.”

“Saw what?” His eyes were steady on his lap. The lantern’s cool light did him no favors; made his face look gaunt and haunted in the gloom.

“One of them — bigger than the others — was wielding an axe. Not a hatchet, you understand, but a proper war axe. The kind of thing you’re meant to swing but he threw it as easy as if it had been a spear and it...” He clapped his palm against the center of his chest. “It hit him here. Right here. I saw it — heard it. Like a branch cracking in half.” She winced.

“One of the other bandits?” He shook his head.

“I knew that he was a dead man as soon as it happened. It was horrible, but I wasn’t — I wasn’t close enough, you understand? But by the time I’d ridden to them they were... the bandits, they were just standing there, and that big bastard of his as well, just standing as you please, as if nothing were the matter. And then he... he _pulled it out_ , Zel. The axe. Like it was some kind of gods-damned splinter, and tossed it at his feet like... And they were _frightened_ , you see, that was why they were just staring all slack-jawed like...” He drew his hand over his face, his shoulders rising with a deep breath.

“And then I killed the rest of them,” he continued thinly. “Before they had the chance to move again. And then Vehvan told me to help Jerek back onto his horse and I listened to him, because what else was I supposed to do? And then we rode back, because I knew that soon Jerek would realize that his shoulder was the way that it was, and that it would be a torture for him to ride and... and because Vehvan was riding too, like none of it had happened. Like a ghost or...”

“Link.” Her mouth grew dry as he babbled on. _Traumatized_ , she realized darkly; he was traumatized. What horror had faced them for him to invent a story like that? Her weary eyes filled once again with tears as she watched him buck his head with a sharp shake. “Oh, Link. It’s alright. You’re alright. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that you had to... to handle everything like that, all on your own.”

“You don’t understand,” he hissed through his teeth. “You aren’t listening to me. I saw it. Janna saw it.”

“Janna..? Link, Janna wasn’t there.” Her breath hitched as finally he turned to look into her eyes. She threw her arms around his shoulders and drew him into a tight embrace before his harrowed, guilty look became too unbearable to look upon. “We’ll stay, alright? We’ll stay in the Domain a little longer. Surely Jerek won’t be eager to ride like that. Just a little longer, so that you can rest a while.”

“It’s not safe,” he murmured into her chest.

“Of course it is,” she cooed. “Of course it is. For you and for me both. We’ll stay here a little longer and just rest.”

“It isn’t.” He shoved against her and righted himself. This time it was his turn to grasp her at the shoulders. She flinched as he shook her. “Listen to me. I don’t think you’re safe! Don’t you understand?”

His eyes darted to her lap. She followed them and found that he’d shoved that dark cloth of his there. Something compelled her to unfurl it into the air. It was long and broad — a tunic, she realized, heather-grey and neatly made.

“What is this, Link?” Her gaze settled on the stain dominating the tunic’s breast. The splatter was black, as if an inkwell had been upended under a clumsy hand, and yet... And yet there was something wicked in the way that the shirt had been torn from collar to hem with a long, jagged rip that yawned and fluttered against the evening breeze.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. She’d picked the fabric herself. The color may have been plain, but the cloth itself was rich and tightly-woven so that it was soft as well. Not the standard garb for a monk really but, then again, he’d never truly been a monk, now had he?

“He was still bleeding when we took him to the clinic hall,” Link continued, his voice cold. “Janna told me that he must have been in shock. He fought against the idea, said that he was fine — that he was fine!” He barked a mirthless laugh. “But he drank that stuff anyway, maybe to stop us from forcing him, I don’t know. She told me that he would die. That there wasn’t anything that she could do, not for something like that. All I could think of was you. How horrible it would be for you. And that he was my friend, you know?” He picked at a bandage wound around his forearm. “He’s my friend, too, and only did all of that because I left them both behind. So I told her to at least stitch him back together so that it wouldn’t be so terrible for you to see. But by the time she’d gathered everything it was...” 

“Vehvan is alright,” she interrupted boldly, as if in an attempt to neatly discredit everything he’d just said. Link’s head bobbed in a drunken nod.

“Yes. That was it. He was fine. As if nothing had happened at all.”

 _Absurd_. She shook her head and shoved the tunic back into her lap again.

“I think,” she replied in an even, steady tone, “that you should get some rest. Alright? It’s late. I’m going to visit with Jerek, and then I’ll do the same. Tomorrow we can talk about all of this again.”

“Zel.”

“Please,” she begged him, twisting her lips into a convincing smile. “All of this... it’s too much for any one person to understand. Let’s study it together tomorrow — as soon as you wish.”

“You need to believe me, Zelda.” It was strange to hear him use her full name like that. She nodded slowly. He looked away as she folded the tunic neatly and tucked it beneath her arm.

“I do believe you. I promise.” She stood and offered him her hand. He took it warily, his mouth still gritted into a grim line. He said nothing further as she ushered him back towards the central hall. Something heavy and unfamiliar had settled between them. She was desperate to toss it off, and yet she wasn’t quite certain how.

“I’ll speak with him alone, if that’s alright,” she muttered to him as they came upon the clinic doors. He eyed her warily. “It’s fine, Link. I’m sure that Janna is still inside. You can wait for me here, if it you wish, but I would much prefer that you head to bed instead.” He nodded and settled into a stiff sentinel’s stance. She sighed. Very well.

She turned to grasp the shell-shaped knobs.

“Chancellor Sidon!” Link’s surprised welcome stopped her short. She turned again to spot the Zora’s hunched figure dominating the hall behind them. It was odd to see him standing after so many days sequestered at his throne. Aluto was at his side, her shoulder braced against his giant’s body as he limped closer.

“Aluto...” Zelda gasped her name as she saw a broken look spill across her friend’s face. Her heart lurched yet again, nearly exhausted by the day’s vicious pace. “What is it?”

She gripped tighter at the tunic drawn over her sleeve. Had Link been right? Had they all been seized by some strange hysteria, and left Vehvan to bleed out in his room? Aluto provided no answer. Her blood grew cold.

“Little princess,” Sidon began, the usual boom of his voice a gentle rumble in its place. “The king... our king is dead.”

“...What?” The word slipped through her lips before she had a chance to catch it — to replace it with a snarl insisting that he not jest about something like that. _Impossible_ , a voice cried out in her mind, even as she watched Aluto ease her father to his knees; _impossible, don’t you know what kind of man he is_? What could kill a man like him? Not a siege, not that — not simply waiting behind a set of walls that had never fallen, not even when the empire had not been an empire at all.

“Long live the queen,” Aluto cried out mournfully. She heard a gasp as the door at her back creaked open.

“Long live the queen!”

She staggered forward. Link leapt from his crouch to catch her but he was too slow — hindered by his wounds or grief, she wasn’t certain which, just that it dulled him enough to grant her a path into the hall again. Sidon and Aluto grabbed for her as well and did little more than block the passageway behind her as she escaped.

“Princess!” Link cried out after her as she ran. _Wrong_ , a cruel little voice told her; _not anymore_.

“No,” she gasped. She slipped as she rounded a corner, gasped again as she felt her knee crack against stone. The bundle in her arms fell as she righted herself. “No!” She snarled the word at the ruined tunic before thrusting it into the mouth of a nearby brazier. It crackled into a licking flame.

“Zelda!” It was Impa that found her first. She nearly ran into her arms as she rounded the final bend towards her quarters. The Sheikah’s face was drawn and mottled; so she knew as well, did she?

“It isn’t true,” Zelda insisted breathlessly. Impa winced.

“My... my queen,” she offered in a voice rounded with emotion. “Please. Listen to me.”

“It isn’t true!” She slipped sideways before Impa had a chance to catch her. It wasn’t far now. Summoning the last of her strength, she flung herself towards the flat handle of the door.

“Wait!” Impa cried out as the door creaked open. “That isn’t your room. Prin— Zelda!”

Vehvan was reading. Her mind spun at the familiar sight of him astride his desk. For a moment it seemed as if everything had been a dream. He rose quickly from his seat as she slumped against the door, bracing against Impa’s knocking as she drove the bolt of the lock tight.

“Zelda!” Impa’s voice grew quieter as she realized what had happened. “You... you can’t possibly... Come out, Zelda. Immediately. Listen to me. That isn’t your room.”

“What is it? What’s happened?” Vehvan crouched before her and drew her away from the door. She gripped limply at his collar, burying her face against his neck. From beyond the door came the crack of Impa’s heel as she began to pace nervously outside. Zelda lost the sound of it as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

“I don’t know.” She pressed her hands against his chest. His heart beat strong and fast against her palms. “I don’t know.” But he was dead, wasn’t he? And her father was the king. And she was just his daughter; or just a girl; or a princess, perhaps. Or a goddess, as Impa had insisted so many times before. Queen, Aluto had called her, without any of her usual coquetry, and had any of it been true?

“What am I?” She pushed herself away from him to look up into his face. “What am I, Vehvan?” His eyes were filled with a pained look she’d never seen him wear before. He did not answer. Instead her pulled her close again, his lips pressed against her salt-stained cheek.

They sat together until Impa at last abandoned her post. Then he stood to carry her to his bed. She clung to him even as he wrapped her in the sheets and later, as he lay beside her, quiet as he stroked her hair. They said nothing to each other even after dawn had come; and was it because they both knew that the question she’d asked him had been wrong?

 _What am I_ , she wondered again as she felt herself finally succumb to sleep. The space behind her eyes was as black as his blood had been.

 _What are you?_


	13. Sovereign

She sunk her hands into the pail’s black depths. The ooze inside was thick. It swallowed up her knuckles, the pale flats of her hands, crested at her wrists. It was cold — sent a chill through her skin and into the tiny bones it’d sucked in. She had a sudden urge to thrust in her arms as well.

“Zelda,” Impa tutted at her side, “what are you doing? I told you, you must wear gloves.” The Sheikah snatched her hands from the dye pot and shoved them into the rough cotton of her skirts. It was too late — the dye had already stained her skin a sickly blue. Impa scrubbed them all the same. “You need to use your head. Look how fair you are. What did you think would happen?”

“I’m sorry,” Zelda muttered numbly. She settled her eyes on the crumpled dress she’d submerged into the pot. Squid ink, Aluto had told her, along with a list of other things she’d since forgotten — the perfect mix to stain even the brightest fabric black. Zelda had asked for it the night before and found it waiting for her the morning after. She’d hunted Impa out, next, nearly shocking the woman mute when she’d arrived at her quarters to ask for her help. _Nothing’s right_ , she’d told her awkwardly; _my dresses. They are all wrong._ She hadn’t packed to mourn.

She’d understood why the Sheikah had been surprised. It had been three days since she had first isolated herself in Vehvan’s room. Aluto had found her on the second, her skin wet from the pool outside his quarters as she rapped at the balcony doors. She hadn’t looked surprised to find her there, so Zelda had offered her no explanation; instead, she’d simply welcomed her inside and retreated back into the burrow of Vehvan’s bed. Aluto and Vehvan had shared a whispered conversation, then, before the Zora had disappeared to return later with an armful of fresh-caught fish. She’d eaten because it had pleased them, although it had been tasteless and had still left her feeling empty no matter how much she ate.

“Zelda,” Impa began again more gently. It wasn’t proper to address her like that, but each time she’d attempted to offer her a title Zelda had shuddered at the sound. “You... We... You need to return to your room.”

“We need to go home,” Zelda corrected her flatly. Thinking of the capital made her stomach ache, but that didn’t change anything, now did it?

“Yes, but there is no need to push yourself. The palace is secure. Vice Chancellor Jerek has sent a second contingent to bolster the royal guard, and I understand that he has accompanied them himself as well. Your people do not expect you to—”

“Tomorrow,” Zelda interjected. Impa flinched.

“I don’t think that is a wise idea.”

“We leave tomorrow. I want to ride through the night.”

“You aren’t in any condition to—”

“I’m fine.” Zelda slipped her hands free from Impa’s skirts and sunk them into the pot again. The dye squelched as she pulled the dress from its depths and wrung it with the twist of her arms. “I’m not the one who has died.”

“Zelda,” Impa insisted, her breath catching in her throat. “A day, two days, Hyrule will wait for you patiently. But this is... you will not be returning to a home you recognize. The people are frightened. You must be strong. They’ll smell any fear on you, and your fear will become their own — do you understand? There is no shame in mourning, my darling. This is a terrible, horrible thing that has come about — ugly, and cruel, and criminal. Whatever time you need, take it, it is yours. But when you ride into the capital you must be a queen.”

Zelda stood to hang the dress on a nearby line to dry. She watched the darkened fabric drip. It reminded her of the butcher’s district in the capital — a hot, sour-smelling place lined with glistening hogs and quartered calves all ready to be sliced into roasts and steaks. Were the butchers still busy with their bloody work, she wondered, or were they cowered in their huts? Had they dyed their tunics black as well, or were they secretly rejoicing now that her father had been found stiff and blue-lipped in his bed?

_Drip._

_Drip._

“We leave tomorrow.”

“No.” She felt her mouth turn into a snarl as she turned to face Impa again. The Sheikah’s face was stern and stony in return, although her eyes were still laced with the same haunting pity that had filled them for days. “Don’t be reckless. There are matters that we must discuss before we return.”

“Let us discuss them, then,” Zelda snapped, wringing her hands. The sticky dye strung between her fingers. “Go on. What is it?” A frown rippled across Impa’s brow.

“Your father the king was killed,” she answered slowly.

“Yes, I know.” Zelda kept her voice braced into a bitter tone, knowing that otherwise it would collapse into useless sobbing instead. _Face it_ , she ordered herself silently, her teeth grinding in her jaw; _face the truth. Be strong_.

“The beasts at the palace walls,” Impa continued carefully, “they clearly owe no allegiance to any kingdom in the empire. Even Hebra has been quick in offering support against the siege. This is no civil war.”

“War is war,” Zelda contended tightly. Impa shook her head.

“There is war and then there is the Great War,” she corrected her. “A war without end, one that has been brewing since the goddess first gave us breath.”

“Good and evil, is it?” Zelda cut her short. “So be it, then, and let us hope that we find ourselves on the proper side.”

“Zelda,” Impa sighed. “I’ve tolerated your... unorthodox faith for a long time, but you won’t be answering to me alone any longer if you keep up that sort of talk when you are crowned.”

“So what would you have me say, then? What would you have me do?”

“Kakariko has extended an olive branch with all of what they’ve done to date,” Impa told her, selecting each word slowly, “but their generosity isn’t without limit.”

“You want me to marry Jerek,” Zelda surmised.

“That matter has already been decided. I would simply suggest that you advance the date so that we can be certain we have the support of both Kakariko and the Yiga clan in whatever comes to pass.”

“Fine,” Zelda spat. Impa frowned.

“I’m not only seeking out your approval, Zelda. You’ve already agreed to these terms. What I’m asking is that you become more aware of your actions and how they can be interpreted. You aren’t a princess any longer. You are a queen, and in being a queen you are a mother to your people as well, not to mention a partner to your betrothed. Your dignity means something to them, do you understand? No more aimless adventures, disappearing for days at a time; no more naked swimming races.”

“Do you think I’m interested in games at a time like this?” Zelda hugged her arms tight across her chest.

“And no more private prayer with that monk,” Impa added quickly. “I understand that you find comfort in his teachings, but it’s become distasteful. There are plenty of good sisters whom I can recommend once we return to the palace, if you prefer to worship alone—”

“Worship,” Zelda laughed mirthlessly. The numb grief that had filled her for days had begun to boil into anger. “I’m not praying with Vehvan. I’m sleeping with him.” Impa blanched.

“Zelda,” she sputtered. “That isn’t something to joke about.”

“What am I to you?”

“What?” Impa’s eyes narrowed as she watched her pace in the space left open between them.

“My father is dead,” Zelda explained to her. “I am his only child and heir, and so I am owed the crown. Is that right?”

“Yes,” Impa answered uneasily.

“And so I am the sovereign — in this very moment, coronated or otherwise. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“And I have told you that I wish to return to the capital tomorrow. That is my command, Impa. Will you heed it, or will I have to insist?” Impa’s lips gritted into a tight line.

“I will do as you command, my queen.” Zelda slipped her arms free from her shoulders to ball into fists at her side.

“When we return I will be crowned and married without pretense,” she told her next, “as is appropriate in times of a... Great War.” The words were bitter on her tongue. “Jerek will have a crown of his own, then, and we will have the Yiga in exchange, just as my father desired. If my husband is disturbed by any action that I take of my own accord then I will invite him to discuss it with me directly. Your own perspective on the matter is irrelevant.” Impa bristled at the word, standing stiffly from her seat. Zelda’s chest tightened as she matched the older woman’s stare.

“Very well,” Impa told her finally, dipping low in a bow. “I will inform Chancellor Sidon that we intend to ride with the morning sun.”

“Good. See to it that my things are packed and prepared as well.”

“Yes, my queen.” Impa nodded, still folded in her bow, before she turned to leave the room. Only when she’d left did Zelda sink into her haunches, her arms gripped around her knees as she shivered. She swallowed a warbling breath as her eyes, blurry with frustrated tears, steadied on the little black pool that had formed beneath the hem of her dress. It had been blue, once, she thought aimlessly. Once it had been pretty.

* * *

“I’m coming with you.” 

“No,” Zelda told Aluto once again. Her eyes darted to the line of carriages waiting for them at the last bridge leading out from the Domain. It was time to leave. The weather had begun to cool, but it was not yet cold enough to want to find oneself at a brisk pace under the noontime sun. “I need you to stay here.”

“You need me to come with you,” Aluto insisted, gripping at her sleeves. “I can protect you. Don’t you believe me? Here. I’ll fight your hero. Now, here, in this very moment. You’ll see.”

“Aluto,” Link groaned, the quick, familiar tone of his voice betraying the nature of their relationship after so many days hidden in the holdfast. It would have been a charming thing once, before. Now it was just more noise. Zelda felt her mouth grow dry. All she wanted was the silence of the car waiting for her; the steady creak of the wheels running under her feet and the gentle touch of Vehvan’s calming hand.

“Please,” Aluto continued, stepping closer to her. “Don’t go alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Zelda insisted, clapping her own hand over the Zora’s long fingers. “I’ll be fine. I need you here. If we come to find it necessary evacuate our people from Central Hyrule, the Domain will be the only place safe enough to receive them. I’ll need you here to meet them. Do you understand? I need you to stay here.”

“I don’t want to,” Aluto pouted. Zelda smiled. It wasn’t convincing, even she knew that, but it was all that she could muster.

“I know you don’t. Thank you, dear sister. Be safe. We’ll see each other again soon.”

“Zelda...” She kissed her on the brow before she had the chance to protest further. The Zora lingered miserably in her place as Zelda turned to retreat to the carriage line. They’d had a proper goodbye earlier, with Sidon at his throne and wearing that same tortured look that his daughter wore now. Even the courtiers had abandoned Aluto to her task of trailing Zelda and her envoy down the looping hills back towards the westward roads. Now, having found paved stone again, they were ready to slip into cars and saddles and properly begin their ride.

They were all dressed for their return. It had been easy for most of them, Zelda supposed; Vehvan’s wardrobe was dark already, and Link’s as well, with his dress uniform nearly black in its deep navy hue. Jerek had ferreted out a black riding jacket that looked nearly purposeful. The few bureaucrats who had not accompanied her father when he’d left himself had quickly dressed themselves in mismatched black tunics and blue skirts and looked adequately mournful themselves. Only Janna was like her, dressed in a simple dress still damp from the dye Aluto had procured for them. Zelda wondered if her snowy skin was stained purple, too.

Janna and her brother were waiting for her closer to the line. They both bowed reverently as she approached.

“My queen,” Jerek began quietly, “if you would, I’ve prepared the frontmost car for us to ride.”

“No,” Zelda answered with another cool smile. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I will ride in my regular car.” He wanted to protest. She watched a dark shadow flicker across his cheeks. His sister caught it, too.

“Come now, brother,” she interceded. “Our queen must maintain her vigil for our beloved majesty. Surely you would not be so callous as to distract her from her prayers.”

“Certainly not,” he agreed slowly. “It seems I have been too selfish.” He extended a palm in her direction timidly. She accepted it, stopping a flinch from flickering over her features as he covered her fingers with his second palm. “And yet I hope you know, your highness, that you may call upon me at any time for whatever it is you may wish.”

“Yes. Thank you, Jerek.” He craned his head lower against his chest.

“I wish you a peaceful ride, my queen.” His hands squeezed her fingers gently before he released her and, with the blessing of her own curt nod, turned to hunt out his carriage near the head of the line. Janna lingered behind. Zelda’s eyes settled on her.

“Your father has beaten us to the capital,” she told her quietly. Janna nodded.

“He has.”

“What do you think of that?”

“I think that it is dangerous,” the Sheikah offered her simply.

“Can I trust his men?”

“They will follow him before they follow you.” Zelda frowned.

“Very well.” Janna caught her at the elbow before she made to turn away.

“The Yiga,” she continued quickly, “are a people conflicted at their very heart. They were born to protect the royal family, and yet they have been sworn for generations to serve a second king. It leaves them weak, confused; frightened, more than anything. I understand their troubles.” Zelda’s heart began to beat more fiercely. Janna caught the spark rising in her eyes — gripped her arm tighter. “I understand them, but I do not agree with them. My people have groveled for so long in the dark they’ve lost sight of the truth.”

“And what is that, Lady Janna?”

“To serve one is to serve the other, my queen.”

“You think that in serving me, that you will serve the King of Thieves?” There was no use in hiding the man behind veiled insinuation any longer; although, she had to admit to herself silently, even she wasn’t willing to say his name just yet. Janna smiled.

“Every shadow needs a light,” she answered cryptically. “But only a fool snuffs out a candle for fear of casting a shadow.”

“Is that a threat?” A sad, earnest look filled Janna’s scarlet eyes.

“Never, my queen,” she promised her, kneeling forward to press her lips against Zelda’s fingers. “No matter the situation, my allegiance will always lie with you. Perhaps with time I will convince you. In the meantime, I will inform you of any news I hear of my father... and my brother, as well.”

“As you wish,” Zelda managed. Janna sunk into a curtsy before following where her brother had gone.

“What was that?” Vehvan asked her the question once she’d stepped into their carriage. Zelda sighed and shut the little door at her back before sinking onto the bench beside him.

“I don’t know,” she admitted as the carriage lurched forward. She peeked through the window to watch them depart. Link was riding at their side, with both her and Vehvan’s mounts cantering riderless beside him. He spotted her but turned quickly from her eyes. That made her frown, but it wasn’t something that she could address now. She turned to watch Aluto pass instead, waving at her for a final time before drawing the curtains shut.

“A warning, maybe,” she continued distractedly as she sunk back beside him. It was hot inside the carriage, but she still felt a chill. It was her dress, she realized; a day had not been long enough for the dye to dry and yet she’d been forced to pull it over her head all the same. She picked at the ties stringing the bust closed.

“What are you doing?”

“This is wet,” she muttered. “It’s horrible. Help me take it off.”

“And what exactly do you plan on wearing instead?”

“Your jacket,” she answered matter-of-factly, glancing over at the thing in question. It was neatly folded on the opposing bench, a formal looking thing that he would be forced to wear once they came upon the capital again. He eyed her, unconvinced.

“Help me!” Her order was muffled by the damp bodice of her dress, which she’d drawn over her face as she’d struggled to tug it off. They both wrestled with it, all elbows and gripping fingers, before finally tossing it into a crumpled pile.

“Oh,” he muttered, tracing the purple-black blotches spotting her skin.

“It’s just dye,” she snapped before he began to worry over her again. She frowned as he began to laugh.

“You look... ridiculous,” he managed. She meant to screw her lips into a frown but felt herself begin to smile as well — a real one, for once, and quickly split by laughter of her own. “Whose idea was this?”

“It was mine,” she admitted bashfully, leaning forward to snatch his jacket from the bench and stringing it along her arms. It dwarfed her well enough to nearly serve as a dress itself. “And what of it? Here — go there, beneath the bench. There should be a blanket there. Give it to me.”

“Surely you aren’t cold.”

“Just hand it over,” she grumped, flashing her palms at him impatiently. He obeyed. She’d wanted to use it to cover her legs in the event that one of the riders grew too curious and insisted they peel open the curtains again — but Vehvan had a different idea, instead drawing it along her shoulders and wrapping her tight, his arm resting atop it. She didn’t mind; she was cold, really, in a way, and had been for days, no matter the weather outside. She kicked her legs over his lap and nestled closer against his side.

“What sort of warning?”

“Hm?”

“Before. You said Janna gave you a warning. What sort of warning was it?” Zelda thought on his question for a moment.

“I don’t know,” she repeated. “She tells me that she serves me honestly, and for some reason I am compelled to believe her. And then, in the same breath, she warns me to fear her father — and that, in fearing her father, I should fear her brother, too.”

“Hm.”

“Not that she’s counseled me to abandon my marriage, of course,” Zelda added dryly.

“You need to be careful.” She groaned at his warning.

“Of course I do. I’ve always needed to be careful.” Her temper ebbed to life again. “It’s been my fate since I was born. A war of good and evil — that’s what Impa said. I was pitted in it before I was even given a name. And what happened, afterwards, once I came into this world? Did they train me with a sword? Teach me how to use a shield?” She leaned back to stare up into his face. His eyes were steady on her, a constant golden glow. “No. They taught me my prayers, and how to sew, and how to dance. I think they would have been more content if I’d never even learned to read. Everything I did to steel myself, they called it a burden — a foolish fancy, a game. My father was convinced that one day I would battle the devil, and to prepare me he gave away my hand and filled me with my fairy tales.”

“You have a sword,” Vehvan insisted, his eyes darting quickly to the veiled window and to the idea of the man who rode outside it.

“Is that what he is?” She thought again of Link’s harrowed face as he had recalled his fight in the Tabahl Woods. “And what are you, my shield?” Her eyes watered as he nodded his head. “I don’t want Link to die for me. And I won’t let you — to — it’s not what I want. This isn’t what I want. I’ll avenge my father, and I will protect my people.” She balled the soft wool of his jacket between her fists. “But I won’t sacrifice either of you to some meaningless war.”

He was silent. She supposed there wasn’t much he could have said. She sighed and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him clinging to the fine weave of his clothes. Her mind darted to images of black blood again. She shook the thoughts away with the twist of her chin. His fingers combed through her hair, then, gentle and steady in their stroking.

“They say that there are beasts at the castle walls,” she started again after some time. Her voice was quiet. “And, for everything they’ve seen, no men to lead them. Do you think that you could scare them away, the way you did before?” His chest rumbled with a low hum.

“I can try. Whatever you like.”

“Why do you think they are there?” He thought on her question for a moment.

“Creatures like that are drawn to power like moths to a flame. There’s no other reason to it, really.”

“What do you think has drawn them there?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted with a rise of his shoulders. “But I can look into it when we arrive.”

“Vehvan...”

“Hm?”

“Before,” she answered slowly, “years ago, when you first came to Hyrule, I told you that our people would be cruel to you because of how you look. Do you remember?”

“Yes.”

“And then you proved me wrong.” Her lips stretched into a straight-lined smile. “And charmed them all — instantly, with just a look, even when they couldn’t understand a word of what you said. I was so jealous of you, then. That you could make them forget all of the old stories in a way I never could.” She stroked the triangle of his chest peeking through the slit of his collar.

“But now I... I think that things have changed. The people loved my father. His death was... graceless. They’ll want blood, justice — even if the city is burning, they’ll seek out his killer’s head before they douse the flames. I think, perhaps, that now they will be cruel in earnest to you.” His fingers steadied to cup her head. “No matter what I tell them.” She thought again of Link — of that hard, veiled way he’d looked at her when he’d escorted her that morning. _I don’t think you’re safe_ , he’d told her before, desperate and pleading.

“That’s alright.

“I should tell you that you can leave,” she continued with a jagged breath, meant to be a laugh, “that it would be better for you to linger in some other place until everything has been resolved. But I don’t want to. It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

“I’m going to help you,” he contended, his body shifting slightly as he shook his head. “Even if you ordered me to the desert again, I wouldn’t leave.”

“That’s treason.”

“Is it?” He laughed. “So be it, then. We’ll find the man who killed your father, Zelda. And then I will serve you again as I have before — in whatever way you wish.” She bunched his collar in her fist.

“You shouldn’t just throw your life away like that, you know,” she muttered tightly.

“And why shouldn’t I?”

“Because I... I’m not fair to you! I can’t give you any more than what I’ve already given you. Are you really content with that?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“You’re mad,” she huffed, shaking her head against the draw of his shoulder. He laughed again and skimmed her crown with his chin.

“I’m not an honorable man, you know,” he told her with a teasing tone. “No matter how many books you bury me with, I will always be a bit of a fool. And naturally I would prefer that things were different — that simpering prince of yours, I hate him. I wish that you didn’t need to be in this damned place at all. If I could simply steal you away I would, but that isn’t what you want, and so I haven’t. In any case, even if you had no fondness for me I think I would still find myself at your heels.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe I am just some low creature, too. Drawn to you, a moth to a flame.”

“Don’t,” she snapped, pulling free of him. “I hate that. I don’t want you to serve me, not like the rest of them.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“You asked me the question. I don’t like to lie to you.”

“So you’ve lied to me before?” Something strange settled between them. It made her heart beat faster and her jaw grow tight. He studied her, unruffled, his golden eyes looking through her again.

“Is there something else that you want to ask me?” 

_Yes_ , she wanted to snarl at him, _this is exhausting. I’ve had enough. Tell me the truth and let’s get on with it_. But it wasn’t that she wanted _that_ , really — rather, that she wanted to bury her head deeper into the sand until she’d forgotten all of it. She’d never asked to be a queen. All she’d ever wanted was to wander between all of the world’s little mysteries; its snowcapped peaks and hidden places and dry, empty deserts. Not to conquer them, as her father would have preferred, but to simply see them — to sit, knees drawn to her chest, and watch the world breathe and carry on as if she were nothing more than a beetle crawling in the dust.

She slipped from the cocoon of the blanket to straddle his lap. He flinched as she cupped his jaw between her hands. Not an honorable man, he’d said; no, perhaps not. His brow had furrowed from the impropriety of what she’d already done, but she’d also stirred the embers of his desire awake. They were, she knew, easy to kindle it into a fire. She couldn’t run away — there was truth to that as well, that she was damned to return to the capital no matter what it was she truly wanted. But she could at least find some pleasure with him before she was tossed into her grief again.

“I love you,” she told him as she loosened the laces of his trousers. He shuddered under her touch. “If you insist on following me, let it be for that.”

“Do you really think it was ever for anything else?” His breath was hot against her throat.

“Don’t lie,” she told him as she eased him inside her. He groaned, his eyebrows arching high into his forehead.

“I’m not that complicated.” His hands skimmed greedily beneath the face of his stolen jacket. “You’ve always been the fickle one.” She tugged his head sideways with a fistful of his hair. _Too close_ , she wanted to tell him, but kissed him instead to silence him; _don’t dance too close to the truth_.

* * *

“I must be dreaming to find you in here.” The library was dark. It was late — made her whisper, even if there wasn’t anyone in the airy room to bother other than him. Link looked up at her slowly, a guilty cloud settling across his shoulders.

“I’m sorry. If I would have known that you were awake, I would have—” She cut him short with the wave of her hand.

“It’s alright.” She padded closer to him, her long dressing robe dragging in her wake. “Are you really reading? What is that?”

“It’s nothing.” She took a seat beside him and plucked the book from his fingers. It was old. Years of dust had gathered on its pebbled cover, leaving her fingertips powdery as she leafed through the pages. “You shouldn’t walk through the palace alone. You should have called for me.”

“No one is going to hurt me here,” she answered absentmindedly. Her stomach cooled as she realized that the words rung hollow. No, perhaps they would. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Vehvan had made good on his promise when they’d first arrived home a few days prior. The snarling, wild-eyed creatures haunting the city limits had sulked away nearly as quickly as he had mounted the walls to spook them off. That had eased the worry of the townspeople cowering in the courtyard, perhaps, but it hadn’t answered the more dire question of just who had strangled the breath from her father’s body three weeks before. Whoever it had been, they had been without claws or fangs or scales, to have disappeared so easily again.

“You need to call for me if you want to leave your room.”

“Alright, Link,” she sighed. She set the book against the table and turned to face him. “How are you?” He flushed.

“I’m fine. That isn’t what’s important. Why aren’t you sleeping? Have you been sick again?” She wagged her head.

“No, Link. That was nothing. I wish you would stop talking about it.” Just stress, she’d explained to him even as she retched into some unlucky flowerpot during one of their midday strolls; or grief, or maybe fear. She’d seen the same in the refugees scattered in the palace yards, their faces grey and their shoulders trembling as they waited for the silent hammer of war to fall. It was unnerving, no one could doubt that, not even Link with his shining sword — to feel something watching them without knowing just where it was lurking, and or when it planned to strike, or even why it hunted at all.

She fiddled with the book again. It fanned open to a spot marked with a scrap of paper. Her eyes slid across the page.

_And the king’s men gathered a thousand blades and one_

_From east and west and all forged from licking flame;_

_And the queen’s women offer’d sons and fathers brave_

_All for them to claim._

_Heroes, a thousand strong, their glory became a grave_

_Lo, for although a thousand and one swords cut at the King of Dread_

_Only one could lay him dead._

“I’ve spoken to the palace guard,” he told her lowly. “And to the staff, each and every one. Two kitchen girls swear to have seen the man who killed the king.” Her stomach grew sour.

“I’ve already been told that no one was there when it happened.”

“Not when it happened, no. But they’ve told me that they saw a strange shadow passing through the yard early in the morning, right before the dawn. It was too dark to make out his face, but they were certain that it was a man. Tall, broad-shouldered. He made the air cold, they said, and hard to breathe. They were certain that he would kill them, too, but instead he simply disappeared.”

“Nonsense.”

“It’s him. Who else would have been able to summon those beasts to the capital? He must have wanted to draw the king to him. The siege, the idea of a war, even — it was all just a trap.”

“ _Him_ ,” Zelda drawled, tracing her finger over the crisp print of the old poem. “If you insist on it, you’ll need to use his name.”

“Ganondorf.” Her lips settled into a smirk. It sounded ridiculous, even in Link’s grim tone— just another character from her childhood books haunting the dark spaces beneath her bed.

“Good, then. With tomorrow’s coronation I shall be a proper queen. If he was so determined to kill a king, let us see if he will come for me as well.”

“Zelda...” She leveled her eyes on him. He looked small and pale. She wondered if his mother was huddled in the palace yard beneath them. Her chest pricked at the idea. And was his father buried in the soil there as well? A thousand heroes, that old poem proclaimed mutely beneath her — and how many more would that hungry legend devour?

“Don’t be afraid.” He stared back at her incredulously.

“Do you have any idea what we might be forced to do?” She shut her eyes and the pages of the book as well.

“I’m not,” she snapped back, the words trembling against her tongue, “I’m not a pawn. Whatever we must face we will face together, but I don’t intend to simply play a role written for me by some long-dead _zealot_. I don’t believe in devils, Link. Someone has killed the king and we will bring justice upon him. Not a goddess’ judgment but _mine_. Perhaps there will be no legends written for it, but it is enough.”

“Do you really believe that?” Her eyes flashed open again. He’d leaned forward to grip at her wrists. “Even now?” His hands were bare. She stared down at the neat triangle glowing beneath the ridge of his knuckles. _What is that_ , a coy voice asked her at the back of her mind; _what is it, really? What does it mean? Who’s put it there? And can you cut if off, and what would be beneath — black blood, white blood, nothing at all?_

“Even now,” she insisted, shrugging free of him and standing from her seat to leave him alone to the dark room that she’d once loved.


	14. Crowned

They said her father had prayed for six days prior to his coronation — that he, sworn to silence, was transformed into a reverent statue at Hylia’s feet in the rubble of the Temple of Time. Afterwards, he had been washed with water drawn from the holy springs that was steeped with rich herbs and flowers to perfume his skin. His people had combed oil into his hair — still blond, then, she imagined, the color of summer hay — and sung quiet songs to him as they dressed him with velvet and silk and fur. The capital, the stories told her, had been filled elbow-to-elbow with people from every inch of the empire. They’d watched, transfixed, as his father’s crown had been placed on his anointed brow, and the roar of their approval was rumored to have echoed in the heavens for days. 

Zelda woke on the morning of her coronation with bile at the back of her throat. The room was cold. She was alone. She’d busied Vehvan with the business of hunting out clues about her father’s killer and, unsurprisingly, he’d adopted the task with vigor. Something in the depths, he’d told her the day before without explaining how he knew — there is something deep below the castle that shouldn’t be there. She’d told him to be careful but, to be honest, she knew that he was safer in the shadows of the old dungeons than in her bed. They were all frightened of him, just as she had predicted. It would not take much for the old cronies of her father’s council to suggest that he be relegated to some far corner of the empire in an effort to keep her safe.

He hadn’t been the only one chased away. Link had forbidden her her handmaidens, all of them too familiar with the palace’s secret passageways to trust with her privacy any longer. No matter that she had known them all since they had been little girls. She sighed and stared into the ceiling as she remembered the sound of them twittering in the morning. There was Tanna, short and cherubic, who was always the one to draw the curtains with a quick, whisking sound; and Nabu, a distant cousin, who preferred to tease her awake with a feather against her nose or a trickle of icy water on her toes. Were they cross, now, she wondered, for having been denied their duty — or were they just frightened like the rest of them? Her heart ached. Tanna had always been afraid of the dark. How could she manage something like this?

Zelda’s stomach lurched as she sat up from her pillows. She swallowed the sourness that had gathered on her tongue and stared listlessly towards the heavy brocade of her curtains. A silver dress was waiting beside it on a headless form. It was her coronation gown and her wedding gown as well. Her decision to pile the two events into a single day had been nearly as dismaying to the court as news of the war. Still, with both duties equally repugnant to her, she had no interest in stringing them along a month of revelry instead. The war was convenient in at least giving her a reason to do so. Austerity, she’d insisted — we cannot possibly intend to feast and be merry in a time like this.

She shivered as her feet touched down on the chilled stone of the floor. The fire had run too low in the night, but she hadn’t had the heart to summon Impa there to build it for her again. The Sheikah would likely scold her for the cooling embers once she arrived to help her dress, but in that new, stilted way of hers that left her feeling ill. It was her doing. She’d broken something when she’d told her the truth about Vehvan — about herself, rather — something that she knew would not be easily mended again. The thought made her sad, in a tired sort of way. She sighed again and shuffled towards the silver shroud of her dress.

Her reflection stopped her short. She stared back at the messy-haired woman caught in the mirror’s gilt frame. She’d only been submitted to the capital’s rationing for a handful of days but her cheeks had already grown a bit hollow. There was a dark shadow under her eyes as well. It made the blue of them harsh, almost feverish. The sight frightened her.

A childish part of her cried out to be shielded, petted, protected — to delay the inevitable of the coming ceremonies so that she could cower... where? Not in the library, where the shelves were strung with books foreboding the violence that was destined to hunt her out. Not in Impa’s austere quarters, either, forbidden to her now, nor in the neat soldiers’ barracks, transformed into an armory full of sharpened blades. And not in the throne room, where she’d sometimes wandered when her doubt had overcome her, to sit at her father’s feet as he read through the day’s petitions. He’d stroked her hair as he’d flipped through the pages, absentminded, like a hunter with his hound. Sometimes he would read aloud a few phrases to her when something amused him. His voice had been quiet, then, and without its usual crisp tone. A father’s voice, rare but precious, just like the warmth of his wrinkled palm.

Her eyes pricked with tears.

“Oh, Father,” she breathed, kneading the points of her fingers against her eyes. A selfish misery filled her. “I have nowhere to go.”

“Your highness,” a voice replied. Impa’s. She listened to the rapping of the woman’s knuckles against her door as she scrubbed the tears from her cheeks.

“Come in.” Impa obeyed, her silver head bowed low as she swept into the room.

“Good morning, my queen. Dawn has come and the capital is quiet. Are you ready to dress?”

“Yes,” she murmured in reply. Impa looked up. A frown tightened her lips as her eyes darted from the smoldering hearth to the cloaked windows. It grew deeper as they settled on Zelda next. She wanted to say something more, it seemed, but kept her quiet. She simply nodded instead, stepping forward towards her to help her with the lacing keeping her thin dressing gown closed.

“I do wish,” Impa managed finally, “that you would place at least a day between the coronation and the wedding ceremony.”

“I know.”

“You are a queen, not some...” She faltered, unable to conjure the proper demotion. “Well, that is to say that you are owed two ceremonies. No matter this war nonsense.” Zelda smile loosely. It was quite the departure for Impa to say something like that.

“I don’t want them, Impa. This is enough.”

“It’s not,” Impa huffed stubbornly. She tugged Zelda’s dress over her head with a quick, whipping stroke. Zelda shivered as the cool palace air rushed along her bared skin. “You really ought to...” Impa’s voice died away again. This time, however, her eyes were not steadied on her task, but rather roving along the lines of Zelda’s uncovered body. Folds wrinkled across her brow. Something instinctive made Zelda cage her fingers protectively over her stomach.

“Oh, Zelda,” Impa sighed lowly, her shoulders sinking. “You stubborn, foolish girl.” Zelda winced as the Sheikah looked finally into her eyes. She had expected something cruel and stern in her look, but it was tortured instead. She gasped a breath as Impa threw her arms around her and drew her tight to her chest.

“I am so frightened for you,” the woman admitted to her in a muffled voice. She was trembling. Zelda had never thought that she was capable of such a thing. Her heart stirred into a fast drumming. She looped her arms around Impa’s strong back and held her.

“It’s alright,” she promised. The simple phrase was enough to kill the fear roiling inside her. Yes, she thought, her heartbeat settling, that’s it. Don’t be afraid.

* * *

Her coronation was hardly what she’d dreamed of as a little girl. The throne room was nearly empty except for the archbishop and the wispy cloud of harmless courtiers who she knew required an attendance to be left satisfied. Better that it had been her and the archbishop alone. She trailed down the center-aisle of the room and nodded neatly at her audience’s polite coos. The fur cloak at her back was heavy. She fought the urge to shrug free from it as she advanced towards the archbishop’s serene smile. 

What she’d thought before, it wasn’t entirely true; there were two men missing from the crowd whose absence made her chest ache. Link had been left at the doors behind her, to guard against whatever ghosts who meant to infiltrate the palace’s impenetrable heart. And Vehvan.... her eyes skimmed the crowd for the fire of his hair and found nothing but grey and silver and brown. Vehvan wasn’t there. She swallowed her nerves — concern, mostly, but tinged with a girlish hurt as well — as she came to a stop before the throne.

The archbishop began to speak. She knelt at his feet, head bowed. It would be the last time she’d bow, she thought idly as the murmur of his voice turned to nonsense in her ears. How strange it was to show reverence to him, a near stranger of a man, for his relationship with the goddess who they insisted lived on in her own blood. Her eyes drifted closed. She reached out to that deep, empty part inside her and probed. Not even now, she wondered, and felt relieved.

 _Thank you_ , she thought drowsily, her mind flashing with images of hunchbacked statues bearing a woman’s face; _thank you for leaving me be_.

Something heavy pressed against her head. It was cold and unevenly weighted — shifted slightly as she tipped up her head. She stopped herself from reaching up to steady the crown. That wasn’t right. They would turn something like that into a metaphor, she imagined; that she was too familiar with the power the crown granted her, or some other foolish fancy. She squared her shoulders and rose slowly.

“Long live the queen!”

“Long live the queen!”

She smiled placidly and turned towards the crowd. Their cheers were muffled, as if she’d slipped into the depths of a pool to escape them at its bank. A line began to form before her. The courtiers stepped forward to grovel at her toes, kissing her fingers as they renewed their fealty. None of the chancellors were there. It wasn’t proper, really, but neither was their fidelity unclear. When the war was ironed out she supposed she would allow them the theatre of bowing as well. 

Two silver heads made up the tail of the line. Janna came first. Most of the crowd had lingered in their mourning clothes but she was wearing blue. Perhaps it should have offended her, and yet somehow she knew she’d done it on her behalf. The woman pressed the pink petals of her lips against her fingers before trailing a respectable distance at her side.

Jerek came last. His cheeks were flushed with nerves as he knelt before her. Like his sister, he had dressed differently as well — not in a dress uniform but rather a handsome bridegroom’s jacket that was perfectly tailored to his height. Once he’d made his subservience clear to her he stood to linger at her side. She flinched as Janna danced forward to pull the rich, red cape from her shoulders and, with an awkward choreograph, replaced it with one made of white brocade.

Her stomach churned as the archbishop cleared his throat. The crowd settled into a quiet murmur as the ceremonies changed over. There was a tension in the air. She knew that they found the stacked events ridiculous, perhaps even crude. _No matter. It doesn’t matter. I am their queen_ , she insisted to herself.

Janna, the whole of her honor guard, finished with her task and sidled away. She slipped her fingers between hers as she did, a quick darting motion that ended with a simple squeeze. For some reason it made her eyes water.

The archbishop began to speak again. She found it difficult to keep pace with his words. At some point they turned and then she was facing him. Jerek smiled nervously at her. The archbishop joined their hands together and began to recite a prayer. Jerek’s hands were hot. Her mind wandered to his hidden parts — the cream of his skin, and the look of it under a sheen of sweat with his looming invasion of her bed. She wanted to smirk, to think of Aluto’s teasing about little fish thrashing against an endless wave, but was filled with revulsion instead.

There was a cheer. Her heart sunk as she realized they had been married. Her head, as if of its own accord, bent forward mechanically to meet him with a kiss. She turned quickly after to scan, fruitlessly, the merry crowd again.

A muted cry echoed from the palace’s deeper parts. The crowd buzzed around the sound. It came again, this time luring some of the guests’ shoulders towards the doors. Time slowed as she watched them spin and lurch with curiosity. A great noise swelled to life, then, like the roll of thunder clapping a world’s distance away. There was the sound of ice cracking, afterwards. No, she realized, ice filing her veins as well; it was steel against steel, familiar from her time spying on the soldiers’ yard. Jerek’s hands, still intertwined with hers, stiffened into a stony grip.

“Your father would have been so proud,” a voice crackled in her ear, low and cruel. “My little queen.”

The archbishop cried out in terror as the air beside him began to blister and pop. He lurched away just as a dark spot bubbled into an impossible door. She staggered backwards as a shoulder pushed through from the portal, followed after with the rest of a giant’s body dressed in black. Jerek crashed against her, his arm outstretched before them in a feeble guard. Janna joined at her back in a flash of blue.

She forgot them both for the sight of the sudden invader, torn from the pages of her childhood books: his skin, a dark olive tone, looking nearly bruised; his hair, coarse and stark-red, like the mouth of a forge; the sharp angles of his sneering face. A primitive fear filled her and left her motionless. It was paired with a deep and aching agony until she stared into his eyes. They were scarlet, two cold rubies studding the shadows below his thick brow.

The din outside the throne room grew louder. Someone inside screamed. The wail echoed sharply into the rafters and startled her awake.

“What,” Jerek stuttered breathlessly. “Who... why—”

“Yes,” the giant mocked coldly. “Why indeed, boy. Get out of the way. I have business with your queen.”

“No,” Jerek managed, bristling. Her gasp matched his own as the man lurched forward and seized him by the front of his jacket.

“I’m afraid you don’t understand the situation,” the man continued as he shoved Jerek aside. Someone in the crowd moaned as he sprawled against the carpet like a doll toppled from a shelf.

Zelda’s head spun as she was shoved aside as well — not by the dark villain who had hunted her out but by Janna, who had taken her by the arm and wrenched her towards one of the great pillars bracing the palace walls. She heard the bear-cry of Impa’s voice as well as they staggered forward together.

“Enough!” A line of shadows advanced from the dark corners of the room. They were not monsters but men in red suits, their faces hidden behind bone-colored masks. Stirred by the man’s barking order, they leapt forward to chase after the pair. Janna slipped free of their hands with a quick pivoting step, but was steadied by a crossing pair of spears. Zelda shuddered as the woman released her, her hands darting forward to wrench one of the spears free. She managed it, and cut back its owner as well before the point of the second one sunk into the meat of her shoulder and held her fast.

“Janna!” She made to lurch towards her, but her legs refused the move. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked down to see a swirl of thick, snaking shapes twirling around her legs. They were the color of something spoiled, dark and violet-hued.

“Enough,” the man echoed with a sighing voice. The crowd yelped and groaned as he stepped towards her and slid his hand along her arm. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to make a deal. Surely you will hear me out, won’t you, my queen? We are destined for it, after all, you and I.”

Her eyes darted from his to scan the room again. Janna had been steadied by six gripping hands, her face dark and full of ire. Her brother was trapped between the boot of another one of his compatriots. More Yiga soldiers had appeared to corral the crowd into a flinching throng. She spotted Impa’s silver hair in the crush along with the archbishop’s lopsided cap. The courtiers had fallen into a terrified silence, but she could hear the scuffle of a battle outside. Her heart sunk as she pictured Link somewhere in the chaos. She prayed that he still stood.

 _Of course_ , a stubborn voice inside her insisted. He won’t be stopped by something like this. _Right_. She grit her teeth. And neither would she. She wasn’t a swordsman, but she still had a sword. All she had to do was wait until it returned to her again.

“What is it that you want?” The man’s lips split into a slow, venomous smile.

“Don’t you recognize me, my dear old friend?” His hand trailed up her arm. “You wound me. After everything we’ve done — how many years? Centuries? But I suppose it has been some time since we’ve last met. Were you hiding from me? I wasn’t hiding from you. I’ve been dreaming of you. Every night.” His grip tightened painfully. “You look just like I remember you.”

“Tell me. You want to make a deal? What is it?” He frowned.

“Is that really the best that you can do? Surely you father taught you better than that. I am a guest, after all, am I not?” She swallowed dryly as his fingers loosened. They continued up to her shoulder and feathered against her throat. His free hand looped around her to snatch at her other arm. He forced her fist open and lifted it higher so that he could turn it before their faces. He hummed a disappointed sound.

“You really are unlucky, aren’t you?” He sighed. His breath was hot against her ear. “Even now, Hylia ignores you.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she managed through her teeth. He laughed.

“Afraid?” He dropped her hand to skim the other side of her neck. “I don’t need you to be afraid, although I will admit that I am a little disappointed.”

Her shoulders twitched as the throne room doors suddenly cracked open. A small, bloody group tumbled through, all wearing the navy-and-crimson of the royal guard and headed at the front by a familiar man. Link’s pose, usually so perfect, sagged with exhaustion. His voice was still strong.

“Zelda!” He raced towards her, the guard clattering at his heels. They were met with a second wave of red-garbed soldiers materializing from the shadows. The two forces crested together with a cry.

“Enough!” Her captor’s voice boomed. The Yiga froze, their opponents trapped between the weave of their sinister, curving blades. Zelda’s heart crashed against her ribs as her eyes locked with Link’s, and at the sight of one of the scimitars pricking against his throat.

“You are untrained, little hero,” the man continued icily. “Unproven. You’ve killed me many times before, but not today. Don’t be foolish.”

“What is it,” Zelda cried out again, not tearing her gaze from Link, “that you want from me?”

“I am a king,” the man replied simply. “A king without a kingdom. It seems you find yourself in a similar position. That boy of yours,” he slurred the word sourly, nodding at Jerek’s crumpled figure, “is not fit to sit a throne. You know it as well as I do. Not that I intend to spoil your wedding day. Give me the crown. You make a better princess than a queen. I’ll return your prince to you as well. It is a fair deal. I will be a kind master.”

“Hyrule isn’t mine to give you,” she contended in a tight voice, “but even if it were, I would never do such a thing for a low beast like you.” He laughed.

“Beast? Maybe.” His fingers skirted over the looping braids of her hair. A chill passed over her, biting and hollow. “I think you’ll give me more than that. A king is due his owe on a maiden’s first night, after all, isn’t that right?” Her stomach sunk at his hungry tone. “Perhaps in return I’ll give you a second prince as well.”

“Why,” the man drawled on, his chin bucking up in surprise as he spotted something across the room, “and here is your loyal dog. Poor fellow, were you not invited, even after all of your neat tricks?” The air grew colder still. “Come now, it’s alright. Give us a blessing, brother.”

_No._

The Yiga soldiers watched, uneasy, as Vehvan stepped into the room. There was something dark and murderous in his face. Link took advantage of the moment to slip free of his captor’s blade. The figure cried out as he cut him down. Chaos followed as the royal guard harried to life again in a desperate attempt to draw closer to her. She heard the scuff of a heel at her side as well — the clatter of a spear-butt as Janna wrestled with the men trapping her. Zelda’s eyes watered as she tried to track the faces of her beloved in the din, but the throne room had been transformed into dark shadows and stuttering limbs and blood and nothing more.

 _No. Don’t._

The man at her back stiffened with the frustration of having lost the room’s attention. He closed his fingers around her throat. Her hands slashed forward to claw his arms, catching against the thick fabric of his sleeve. She found his wrist after and dug the points of her fingers deeper. The man hissed as she carved shallow red channels through his skin. Fat dots spotted her vision as his grip grew tighter.

“Don’t,” she wheezed as the rabble was pushed closed towards them. The man staggered back a step. Her shallow breath formed into a silver cloud before her lips. _So cold_. Her mind began to race. There were footsteps against the the thick red carpet at her feet. Red, like the blood staining her scratching fingers; red blood, but not his.

“Vehvan, don’t. Please.” _I’m alright_ , she wanted to beg him, but she’d lost the breath; _I’m alright, don’t do it. Don’t be a fool. Don’t let them see._

“What are you doing? Stop. I’ll break her neck.” Her captor’s voice had lost its swagger. It wavered as Vehvan came closer. Perhaps he meant to tighten his fingers further and to finish her off, but they loosened instead. Zelda’s mind swum as a pair of small hands closed around her arm and pulled her sideways. She was free.

Her chest heaved as she sucked in a greedy mouthful of air. Janna hugged her tighter as she stumbled backwards with her in tow. Zelda realized it too late. The woman was surprisingly strong; held her fast even as she struggled against her.

“Vehvan! No!”

He’d stepped closer to her would-be captor. They looked like nightmarish twins, but as he made his approach the second man’s charade began to wear thin.

“What are you...” the man stuttered, his hands groping the air at his sides. He braced them in a cross against his chest as Vehvan fell upon him. “I didn’t,” he insisted as Vehvan’s fingers clawed at his collar, “I didn’t know. I wasn’t — I just — I didn’t know that it was _you_.”

“Don’t!” Zelda’s cry was swallowed up a thundering boom. A thin wail followed after that sent her heart into a shuddering stop. Long, oily tendrils began to worm their way from the man’s chest. They slithered around the curves of Vehvan’s arms, trailing higher until their formed into a looping swirl above his head. They were the same bruised color as the stuff that had held her fast before, but it was clear that they served their former master no longer.

She felt a low moan slip from her chest as she watched her captor’s face begin to bubble and twitch. Another cracking tone split through the air as his features sloughed away like a rubber mask before a flame. She recognized the face beneath it. Janna did as well. She felt her stiffen beside her as the Yiga’s father was revealed.

“I’m sorry,” the elder Jerek begged breathlessly. He pursed his lips to continue but already his cheeks had begun to grow thin, as if something was sucking him dry from the inside out. Someone cried out in horror as his skin grew brittle and began to flake away.

“Zelda.” Link’s voice. She could feel him suddenly at her side, but couldn’t tear her eyes away. They all watched on wordlessly as the elder Jerek’s body fell limp against Vehvan’s grip. His head, now nothing but a sightless skull, rolled against his shoulder as Vehvan tossed him to the ground. The roiling darkness above his head settled and, as if it were nothing but a breath of air to swallow, disappeared against the long lines of the Gerudo’s back.

“Vehvan,” she gasped into the silence that had filled the room. A wave of heat passed over her as the brutal chill from before suddenly disappeared. The fury that had shadowed his face had disappeared as well. It was replaced by a dizzying display of relief and guilt and something darker and more complex. He turned to step closer towards her. Link braced against his approach, the edge of his sword sharp and wet as he angled it in his direction.

“No,” she breathed, but it was enough to settle Vehvan’s face into a grim, determined shape. A dark shadow simmered to life at his side, opening into a bottomless maw identical to the one the glamoured Jerek had used before. She struggled to slip free from Link’s protective huddle, but Vehvan had already stepped through. His golden eyes lingered on her for a moment longer. Then he was gone.

“Our queen!”

“Our queen lives!”

She sagged against Link’s chest as she stared in the empty spot where Vehvan had once stood. There was no proof that he had been there at all — not the man that she had known, at least, who was so quick to tease her, and smiled often, and who favored tart apples over sweet ones — just the elder Jerek’s skeletal frame, still swamped by the black robes he’d used to mimic a storybook king.

“Ganondorf!” Another voice cried out the name in horror. It stirred a low moan into an echo across the room.

“The King of Thieves!”

“Hylia save us!”

Her heart beat to a sludgy rhythm as she realized what Vehvan had seen in Link’s face just moments before. Her head bobbed drunkenly as she tore her gaze from the terrified crowd. They settled on the goddess’ serene stare, peering down at all of them from a tall statue flanking the throne.

 _What you mustn’t_ , an old voice echoed in her head, at once a warning and now a curse. _Never, never._


	15. The Second Son

It took her four days to be convinced that Vehvan wasn’t coming back.

She spent the time staring into the unmasked faces of the men who had meant to drag her from her newly-inherited throne. Her father had always said that a king’s justice was a heavy burden to bear. She supposed that he was right, the way her stomach roiled as she ordered the elder Jerek’s cronies to the gallows; certainly she had never longed to become a headsman, and yet she was the only one to whom the task could fall.

It was unpleasant, but it was nothing compared to the court’s whispers about her doomed wedding day. Their gossip had first centered on the vice chancellor’s betrayal. The courtiers had recounted what he’d done with increasingly elaborate detail until it seemed that the entire world had fallen under his boot before the royal guard had arrived to win it back. She left them to their storytelling as she burned her father-in-law’s bones into a fine ash to spread amidst the gruel destined for the palace swine-yard. His children did not protest; Janna even helped her stoke the flames of his unremarkable pyre, her face as unreadable as the masks the Yiga assassins had worn.

The Jerek left behind, however, did not share his sister’s resolve. Zelda often caught him lurking in her wake, his face twisted into a tortured shape as he waited for her to acknowledge him. She refused him the request at every turn, not yet ready to face him again — unsure, to be honest, of how to deal with him. Some of her advisors insisted that both siblings were as dangerous as their sire had been. Better to exile the full lot of them, they told her, and the Yiga who had not been involved in the coup as well.

“I will think on it,” she told them, time and time again.

Once the memory of the elder Jerek became stale, however, the court turned to the second man who had stood at the throne room’s dais. _Ganondorf_ , they whispered, more a curse-word than a name. She was haunted by the sound of it with her every waking step. _What will we do_ , her people begged her; _how will we prepare? When he returns to tear us down, how will you protect us?_

“We need to talk about what happened,” Link told her, finally, when she met with him in her father’s old study on the fifth day after she had been crowned.

Her father had loved the stars. His study was full of strange instruments he’d once used to hunt them out; crystal spyglasses and brass pincers and huge maps speckled with diamond shapes. She ran her fingers over the collection. Dust had already started to settle on even the most well-worn things.

“I don’t believe there is much left to discuss,” she replied, her voice low and steady. She heard him suck in a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Zelda. I’m sorry about what happened. We were... we were both deceived.” She did not answer. “But we have a responsibility to protect your people.”

“I’m not concerned.” She drifted towards an enormous globe tucked beside her father’s desk. It wobbled in its stand as she spun it on its axis. Her eyes traced the little kingdoms as they twirled away. So much of the globe’s map was empty, painted grey or filled with oceans the academics insisted must have lurked beyond the boundaries of where they’d managed to explore. 

“He’ll return.” A fresh ache bloomed in her chest.

“No. I don’t think he will.” Link’s boots scuffed against the floor.

“He will.” She flinched as he took her by the shoulders and turned her away from the globe. He’d nearly lost an eye in the elder Jerek’s attempted coup. Her own eyes settled on the jagged sutures running along his cheekbone. A bruise had blossomed around the cut, still purple at its center but turning yellow-green in the places where it had begun to fade. She wanted to ask him if it hurt, but somehow she knew he wouldn’t answer.

“He always has before,” he insisted. “We need to be realistic.”

“Vehvan isn’t—”

“Vehvan,” Link snapped, exasperated. He released her to throw his hands into the air. “There never was a _Vehvan_ , Zelda. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, don’t you understand?” His brows bunched tight together as a wounded look flooded his eyes. “I’m sorry. I trusted him, too; all of us did. The prince consort, the guard, your father—”

“You,” she interrupted, “think that Vehvan killed my father?” Link’s lips tightened into a thin line. She felt a spark of anger kindle in her breast. “How can you believe that? He was there with us in the Domain. He learned about my father’s death along with the rest of us.”

“A man like him,” Link countered, “can do many things that seem impossible.”

“He didn’t kill my father,” she insisted coldly. “He cared for him.”

“He didn’t.” _He didn’t care for any of us_ , that hurt look of his contended. Her anger grew hotter.

“You’ve let the court distract you,” she argued, “and confuse you. Half of the palace insists they saw me cut down the vice chancellor myself with a flaming sword. They’re all fools hungry for another ridiculous legend to tell, nothing more.”

“If that’s the case, then how do you explain why Vehvan wasn’t there to see you crowned? If he is the man you say he is, why wasn’t he there to support you?”

“He was in the dungeons.” She scowled as Link pursed his lips to protest. “Because I _sent him_ there, to see if he could find anything that would lead us to my father’s killer.”

“And why would you have sent him there?”

“Because...” _Because he told me to_ , she realized darkly. Link seemed to understand.

“He wasn’t there,” Link insisted slowly, “not until the vice chancellor had set his stage for him. You and I both saw it, Zelda. Whatever that stuff was that he took from Jerek’s body, it was important to him. More important than—”

“Than me? Is that what you mean?” He winced.

“I’m sorry,” he parroted again. She grit her jaw to rebuke him, but found that her anger had quickly dissipated. It had left a dragging fatigue in its wake that filled her limbs with granite.

“Thank you, Link,” she sighed. “I will think on what you’ve said.”

“Zel...” She skirted past him to hunt out the door. Something slowed her step. She turned. He stiffened as she looped her arms around him and pulled him into an embrace. She drew herself onto her toes to press her lips against his brow before releasing him and, without a word, turned again to leave him behind.

* * *

Jerek was waiting for her in the hallway outside her quarters. The sight of him at her door made the hair on her arms stand on end. He nodded lowly at her approach, his eyes downcast. 

“My queen,” he welcomed her quietly. “Forgive me for disturbing you, but I had hoped that we might speak.”

“Very well,” she acquiesced. She supposed she couldn’t avoid him forever. She stepped forward to creak open the door and nodded at him to follow after.

Jerek hovered at the door even after it had been closed. She ignored him the best she could as she trailed to her writing desk. It was piled high with reports and petitions and a mountain of other requests she wasn’t at all certain of how to resolve. Jerek was quiet even as she leafed idly through the pages.

“Well?” She glanced over her shoulder at him. He stared back at a space near her feet. “What is it, then?”

“If it would be please you, I wo—”

“Enough,” she interjected tightly. “You’re my husband now, aren’t you? Do you really intend to keep on speaking to me that way?” The tight angles of his face loosened with relief. Her own stomach soured at the sight. _Well, no matter_ , she thought begrudgingly; they had been married, after all. His father hadn’t killed all of their wedding guests, so they would be able to attest to the fact.

“My queen,” he answered. She raised her brows at him. “Zelda. How are you?” His plain question made her pause. It was absurd, really, to think of a proper answer.

“Fine,” she managed stiffly. “What is it that I can do for you, Jerek?” He winced and swept towards her.

“It isn’t that,” he insisted gently, “but rather what I can do for you. You must hate me for what has happened. I... Certainly I can understand why. But I will repay you for the sins of my father; and the empire as well. Anything you wish, I am your man.”

“That’s very noble of you.” Her blood ran cold as he knelt before her. _Enough_ , she wanted to snap; _enough of this charade_. Her exhaustion from before had transformed into something nearly suffocating. All she wanted was to escape to her bed. Couldn’t any of them understand that?

“It isn’t. I was a coward. If not for Link, I dare not think of what might have happened to you.”

 _No._ That wasn’t how it happened. But how could she explain that to him? None of them would listen to her, no matter how she said it; that Vehvan would never....

Never...

“Let’s not focus on such ugly things,” she told him instead. He gripped at the hem of her dress.

“That is the word for it. I haven’t come here just to beg your forgiveness, that is, but to... to reassert my commitment to you.”

“Alright, Jerek.”

“And certainly this had been a horrid way to start a marriage, but I still intend to be a steadfast partner to you.”

“Thank you.”

“I know I am not like your hero,” he continued. “That sort of thing has never come naturally to me, I will be the first to admit it. But I will do everything in my power to stand between you and whatever is to come.”

“I understand, Jerek. That’s enough.”

“No matter what darkness befalls the empire.” Her chest filled with a shiver of annoyance. _Enough!_ She looked down at his bowed head and was reminded of what his sister had once told her. Just a dog, wasn’t he, and eager to be pet no matter the master. The thought sliced through her fatigue as quickly as a blade.

“Jerek,” she started, her tone suddenly grim. “Did you know that your father desired my father’s crown?” His head snapped backward to stare up into her own. It was a fleeting gesture. He looked away again, his eyes settled on her skirts.

“My father... was an ambitious man,” he admitted to her quietly.

“I know,” she answered. “Your sister has told me the same thing. But I realize now that I’ve never heard much about him from you. Did he tell you that he wished to see my father dead?”

“He... He said many things, my queen, but only out of anger.”

“And did you know that he intended to travel to the capital with the siege?”

“To travel..?”

“Did you not find it strange,” she continued, her words flowing smoother, sharper from her lips, “that a man of his age and health would suddenly race for the frontlines?”

“My father... I see now that he was a wicked man,” Jerek managed. “But at the time I knew him as nothing but loyal to his empire.”

“So you were informed?”

“I... yes. I knew that he would leave Kakariko to the chancellor, and that he intended to ride west when word of the king’s retreat was shared. But I did not mean to make a secret out of the information; rather, that I just assumed that you were already aware.”

“I was,” she admitted, “because your sister told me. She also told me not to trust your father, and to not trust you.” He frowned.

“My sister is a... jealous creature. She serves you well, and I do love her for it, but you must understand that she will seek out any opportunity to earn your favor over mine.”

“Is that so?”

“If I have done something to anger you,” he argued, his voice growing suddenly bold, “then I beg you for your forgiveness. Tell me how to make amends and I will do it. But, Zelda, if I may, I believe that we may both have our own secrets between us.” Her eyes narrowed at his insinuation. “Not out of any conspiracy, but simply because we have lived separate lives. But now we are married as husband and wife, and I wish to take on my role honestly. We will... we will see through this tragedy that has befallen us. I am confident in your justice, your rule. But, more than that, I think that with time we may even be... be happy, don’t you agree? That we may find peace again, and that prosperity will follow.”

“Is that what you believe?”

“It is!”

His face had grown flush. She realized, in that moment, that with a nod of her head she would win his obedience — not just the doting affection that he’d given her before, but a guilt-laden submission that would grant her what was left of the Yiga ready to make amends. There was no doubt that he would defend her in a time when some of her court may have been eager to question her decision to first invite Vehvan into the capital, having been once charmed by him as well. And he would be a husband built to her measure, she understood now, willing to warm her bed or linger cold beside it instead, if that was what she demanded in exchange for his father’s betrayal.

It would be an easy thing to do.

Her heart beat faster.

It wasn’t what she wanted.

Just how many of them would grovel and beg for her favor? And how many of them had done the same to her father before her? Hadn’t Jerek’s own sire scraped at her father’s heel before turning to strangle the life out of him with his knobby-knuckled hands? And why? For what in exchange? That sprawling palace, cold even under the summer sun — the grey haired courtiers chewing toothlessly on sugared buns?

Or was it for the library, filled with books lauding their countless victories in a war without an end — a mouth, full of fangs, devouring so many heroes that they could no longer remember their names. A thousand and one, that’s all they were, over and over again until it was easy to forget just why they struggled on at all.

“You must have so much on your mind,” Jerek added gently. “I certainly do not mean to make your burden any greater. Just.. think on what I’ve said, would you?” He stood and took her hands between his own to kiss them chastely before turning on his heel.

“Jerek.” She called out to him as he crossed the carpets towards the door. He turned, and she was reminded of their first night together as two partners betrothed. He had looked just as hopeful then when she’d called out to him after he’d shared his hopes with her under the Kakariko stars.

A wolffish hunger filled her, full of bitterness and bile.

“I’m with child.”

A splotchy red shadow splattered across his cheeks. _There_ , she thought as he turned stiffly to seek out the door, _finally, there they are_. Even a dog could bare his teeth and there were his, just as sharp as the rest of them. The door squealed open and thundered shut. The canon shot sound filled her with a cruel satisfaction as she finally found herself alone.

* * *

The inner courtyards were still thick with refugees, but even the most desperate between them still needed to sleep. She found them at their twilight hour, all quiet, snoring bundles huddled under ramshackle tents. Her heart ached at the sight of them, but it was settled by the calm determination that had filled her following her meeting with Jerek. _They’ll be safe_ , she told herself again as she picked her way between their sleeping bodies. Somehow she had tricked herself into believing that it was true. She pulled her hood lower over her brow and hunted out the unremarkable corner of the palace walls she sought.

There it was, tucked between the stables and a long-derelict mill. When she was younger, she and her ragtag assembly of serving girls and earls’ daughters had often climbed the little cleft in the wall there, left from some long-forgotten battle and only half-heartedly repaired. The side of the wall facing the fields outside the palace was still impenetrable, but from inside the mismatched brick allowed her the handholds she needed to escape the so-called siege. She slipped her fingers between the sandy ledges and eased herself up, each step as familiar as the stairs into her quarters left behind.

She would only hesitate once in her escape from the palace. This was that moment. She summited the wall and turned to look back on the crowded yard. She’d been running from it all her life, she realized; from the palace’s steady grey stone and the ancient glazed windows always sparkling with late-night candlelight. Once it had simply been her home, but now it was a grave as well — and would it be hers, too? If she continued on, would they find some tiny part of her — a bone, a sliver of her dark cloak — and return it to the throne room to become a reliquary of what had once been?

It would be the end of them, she realized, her chest tightening. She had been her father’s only daughter, and his sister had never had a child herself. Her fingers skimmed the front of her cloak to brush her stomach — still flat, mostly, but growing rounder so that finally she’d stopped inventing reasons for her morning-time nausea, and enough for Impa’s sharp eye to notice on that fateful morning when she’d dressed her in her silver gown.

An end or a beginning.

Both seemed equally possible.

 _It doesn’t matter,_ she told herself as she swung her legs over the wall. _You have to learn the truth_. What kind of woman would she be, after all, to have fought against the old legends for so long and in spite of everything they’d promised her, only to submit to them when she found herself alone?

 _The truth._ She slipped slowly down the other side of the wall. The shadow of Castle Town’s empty streets swallowed her up as she strode forward. She found the outskirts without incident. Even beyond, the fields surrounding the capital were sleepy and quiet.

 _The truth._ The words became a mantra as she made her march westward. They echoed in her ears as she curled up to sleep under a ring of apple trees many hours later, and repeated again as she slipped past a pair of wary travelers with her hood pulled to the tip of her nose.

 _The..._

She worried that she’d find the desert as impenetrable as before — a maze of shifting sand without a path forward (and to where, of course, she hadn’t been quite certain, beyond the fact that there was no question that he was there).

“Oh...” There had been no need for that. As she rounded the final snaking curve of the valley leading into the desert the smell of rain filled her nose. At first she thought it was a dream and yet, six paces later, she found herself staring into the dark grey curtain — a storm cloud, thick and heavy, hanging like a veil around the desert’s boundary lines. _Like a waterfall_ , she thought, absurdly, staring up at the sheer shower and wondering just what she was to do next. Her eyes settled on a spot far against the horizon that flashed with lightning as constant as her own breath. It was accompanied by a steady roll of thunder that rumbled deep in her chest.

“Go on,” she urged herself aloud. It wasn’t far. Maybe she’d be drowned before she made it, but then at least she’d be the first to have managed such a feat in a place like that. She gritted her teeth and stepped into the rain. The drumming raindrops filled her ears, but not a drop wetted her skin. She reached out for it and watched, amazed, as the impossible shower streamed around her fingertips as if she were an island above a flood. A breathless sound slipped through her lips as she stepped forward across the saturated earth.

The sun had set somewhere behind the thunderhead by the time she’d made her approach. The rain was thick but still she somehow knew just where it was she’d come. Somewhere to her left was the cave filled with trinkets and glowing stones — and straight on, perhaps boiling beneath the crackling sky, was the oasis. Her heart slipped into her throat as she remembered how it had once felt to swim in its blue water. That night she’d wished that she could have lingered there forever. Perhaps it would have been better if she had.

The thunder roared on. It drew her in like a piper until she realized she’d begun to climb the back of a dune. And there, at its summit, a shadow, dark even against the clouds.

“Go on,” she repeated thinly. A fresh thunder clap made the hair on her nape stand on end. Her white-knuckled determination had begun to waver.

 _The truth_ , she insisted silently. _Come on, please_.

 _But what if it wasn’t the truth she wanted?_

“It doesn’t matter,” she told herself, less convincingly, as she stumbled forward. If she’d had more time perhaps she would have prayed — or questioned the power of prayer in a moment like this, and for people like them — or smoothed her wind blown hair, or any one of the hundreds of other things she’d overlooked in her harried escape. As it was, however, the rain had worn down the dune into a low slope that quickly disappeared beneath her feet.

So then there he was, still dressed in a grey tunic as dry as her cloak. He was sitting with one knee drawn to his chest and his elbow against it, and with his chin propped in his hand. He didn’t look at her as she approached. They were close enough to the oasis to see its surface, pebbled with raindrops and silver-grey instead of blue.

 _Say something._

She staggered to a stop. He didn’t move. Her ears rung as she realized that the thunder had quieted with her approach.

 _Say something_ , but he didn’t, and neither did she. A curse floated through her mind as she felt herself sink to her knees. She wasn’t supposed to be there, an ancient feeling told her, inherited from some distant ancestor who had known better than to seek out its hunter’s den.

But neither was he. She’d made a room for him in the eastern wing. Didn’t he remember? It was eleven paces from the library and had a wall of windows filled with colored panes. He’d liked them, asked her to tell him all about how the glassmakers had once crafted them out of fire and sand. It had seemed fitting, then, for someone like him.

“When...” The rain swallowed up her voice. She cringed and cleared her throat. “Did,” she tried again, louder, “did you watch me, when I swam in the oasis?”

His eyes darted towards her in surprise. She caught them and held his gaze steady.

“When I told you to turn away,” she continued, the waver in her voice disappearing, “did you watch?” His brows arched into a wistful shape.

“...just for a moment,” he answered quietly. Her lips twitched into a half-smile.

“You were never one for rules.”

“And you were reckless,” he replied, his voice distant and nearly dreamy. “Swimming in the only water for miles. As if this whole world was made for you and you alone.” She felt her cheeks begin to burn. “And it was. When you swam, I watched the sun turn the color of your hair... and the water, your eyes. You were right. It wasn’t something I was supposed to see.”

 _Ridiculous_ , she wanted to retort, feeling embarrassed — _I was filthy, and burned, and wretched. You were the one who looked so proud wearing your robes made from the dunes._

“Why,” she said instead, her voice cracking.“Why did you leave? Why did you leave me behind?” The muscles of his jaw clenched tight.

“I didn’t want to kill my friend,” he admitted to her lowly. “I didn’t want to die.”

“Die,” Zelda echoed. “He wouldn’t — Link would never hurt you.”

“For you he would.”

“Vehvan...”

“And how could I make you choose, between us both, who to protect? You were safe. That was all that mattered.”

“And if I hadn’t come here to find you?” Her voice filled with bitterness. “What if I had stayed in the capital instead? Would you have left me to them — to Jerek, and... and those people telling me that you’ve deceived me?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know? You promised me that you would serve me! That you wouldn’t leave!”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me the truth!” She shouted the words louder than she’d intended. His shoulders sagged as he finally turned to look more properly in her direction. His piercing, golden stare made her eyes prick with frustrated tears. “Tell me. Did you... From the start, did you know? Were you just... hunting me?” He winced.

“Is that really what you believe?”

“What else is there to believe?” A deep ache burrowed into her chest. “All of them — Link, Janna, Aluto even — they all knew what you were. They told me, but I didn’t listen. I didn’t want to know.” Her words tumbled in her throat. _Just a sow_ , she realized with a rising panic; _was_ _I just a sow to the slaughter, and all of your sweetness just something to fatten me before you cut my throat?_ “So did you? Did you know, too?”

“No!” She jumped as a roll of thunder boomed high above their heads. “No. I didn’t know. Not at first.”

“Then when?” He turned away. “Vehvan, tell me!”

“That isn’t...” he started sourly, his eyes still leveled on the silver lagoon below them. “When I saw you in the dunes you were a stranger to me. I helped you because it would have been cruel not to. I was being selfish, too; I was lonely, living the way I was. And I... sometimes I would meet the lost out here, traders and caravans, but none of them looked like you.

So what choice did I have? You were beautiful, and kind, and,” he cocked his head to the side, “ _strange_. I had nothing, lived for nothing. Why not pledge myself to you? You told me your name, but it was just another one of your new words. You brought me to the capital and it was as unfamiliar to me as the desert was to you. It wasn’t hard. I knew that I was a novelty to your people, but I’d always been one before, too. Even after everything, you still sought me out and called me your friend, so how could I not love you? You were — are — everything to me.

But, Zelda,” he continued, his voice dipping into a wounded tone, “you can only read so many stories about yourself before you start to recognize them. To become a monk, it was a clever idea, and I know why you chose it but it was... unlucky. At first I thought of what you always said — that they were just fairy tales. But then I started to dream the stories even before I read them. By then I suppose I already knew the truth.”

“When?” She saw his chest rise with a deep breath.

“Not long,” he admitted quietly. “A season after we arrived in the capital, maybe two.” An icy chill trickled down her spine.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Tell you what, exactly? That man in those legends — he was a monster. I hated him. You would have hated me, too.”

“I wouldn’t have,” she insisted stubbornly. “If you would have just told me the truth. Do you think I don’t understand how you feel? The things that I’ve been told, the person I’m supposed to be, it’s all just nonsense. You said the same once, didn’t you? That those stories all depend on nothing more than who’s written them.”

“Yes,” he agreed lowly. “But I _remember_ them, Zelda. It doesn’t matter what was written.”

“So tell me,” she begged him, her pulse hammering in her ears. “Tell me the truth of everything that’s happened. Let me decide if I should hate you or not.” He was silent. She gripped tightly at her skirts to stop herself from shaking the words free from him.

“When I first met you,” he relented after another agonizing pause, “I was a thief. I was... young, and arrogant, and often unkind. We lived in a world that would be unrecognizable to you now — cruel and uncaring, so that it required cruelty in return to survive. Compared to the rest I wasn’t a monster, really, although I don’t think I was meant to live long.

You were a priestess. Even then, Hylia favored you. I’d traveled far before I first saw you. Your city and your gods were unfamiliar to me, but my people had gods as well. I feared them as much as I feared yours, which is to say that I ignored them.

When I first met you, you were dressed in silver and gold, just like a treasure, and I wanted you just like I wanted any other bauble that had caught my eye. You hated me at first, but I was persistent. As I came to know you, you admitted that you didn’t want to live the life of a priestess any longer — that you were nothing more than a bird in a cage, desperate to fly free. That’s when I decided to love you, I think, instead of simply wanting you. You and I were the same. 

So I stole you away. I meant to leave my life behind as well. I thought that if I could show you all of the places I’d seen before, that perhaps they would make you love me, too. In the end, we didn’t even leave the city in which you’d been born. I hadn’t understood what it had meant to be loved by a goddess. That it wasn’t just love, really, but something vicious as well. Hylia was furious that I had... _corrupted_ you. I suppose that, in her eyes, we both required punishment for our defiance. So... she killed you.”

“Killed..?” Zelda breathed the word, transfixed by his voice. He nodded.

“You were her favorite daughter, they said. Those were the words your people used. I never thought... I would have never done what I did if I would have known that you would have been in danger. Not like that. I watched you die, and then she killed another man as well — a man who was like a brother to me, who I trusted before all others. He was young and foolish, just like me, but he didn’t... he didn’t deserve to die.

 _I_ did. How could I live with your blood on my hands? But my greed had a far greater price than that. Hylia did kill me that day, but first she cursed me. She told me that my people — a people I had left behind years ago, nothing but strangers — would be forever branded for creating a beast like me. That their fields would wither and turn to dust, and that their men would turn to dust as well. That no sons would be born to their women, so that they would be forced to wander as beggars into the kingdoms of other men if they did not wish to disappear. 

I would be the only one, she told me; the only boy child to be born, again and again, forced to live in the damnation I’d created without the hope of ever finding any relief. But that wasn’t entirely true. She killed me, and I was born again, and I lived with her words haunting me — but when I was a young man I met you again. At first I thought it was a dream. I was so... _relieved_. Maybe it had all been a trick, you know? Maybe you hadn’t really died at all. I thought perhaps I could pay penance to you, then, by aiding you — taking you to those far places I’d once promised, before. I wasn’t foolish enough to think that I’d ever earn your love, but to see you again... that was enough. 

And you shot me through the heart with an arrow made of gold. As I died a second time I saw the shadow of a man beside you. I recognized him as well. I resigned myself to my fate, that time. I deserved it, I decided, to die. When I was born a third time I was more determined to seek your forgiveness. It took me many years. I was a far older man when you killed me again.

It was so strange. No matter what I said, or how I begged, it always ended the same way. It took me a long time to realize that you didn’t hate me for what I’d done — you hated me for who I was. You, my brother, you were both cursed, just like I had been. We’ve been killing each other ever since. For an eternity.” He huffed a sharp breath through his nose. “Well, you’ve been killing _me_.”

“I don’t understand,” Zelda managed lamely, feeling weightless in her spot against the dune. “The man — your brother — he was...Link?”

“Yes.” His head nodded backwards as he stared up into the dark belly of the thunderhead. “He wasn’t my brother by blood. That wasn’t important. He was my family. Somehow Hylia understood that. It was just another punishment for her to turn him into her hero — a hero pointed at me. I _remembered_ , Zelda. Every time he cut me down I knew who he was. He had a different name, once. He was a bad thief. Too soft-hearted, you know? He loved me even when I didn’t deserve it, and this was the life I gave him in return. An endless hunt, full of blood and misery.

After a while — a long while, too long — I couldn’t manage it any longer. I didn’t want to die anymore. I was so _tired_. I found a man who told me that he could cut out the parts of me that suffered when I died. It seemed impossible, but what did I have to lose? What happened after, it wasn’t luck — maybe just another curse — but, when I was born again, my mother had two sons. One was wicked, even as a child, filled with bitterness and spite; the other was just a boy.

I think, if you were to ask her the question honestly, Hylia would admit that she’d made a mistake in cursing us. She didn’t know me, at least not beyond what I cherished and what I despised. She didn’t understand that, above all other things, I was born to be an ambitious man. When I stopped fearing the idea of killing you — of killing my brother — my hunger for revenge became unstoppable. I was willing, eager, to burn the world to cinders if that meant punishing her for what she’d done to me.” He combed his fingers through his hair and kept them there, staring into the hard-packed sand between his knees.

“But that wasn’t me,” he continued, his voice pinched. “That man, at least. He was born beside me. I was just a boy. My mother brought me to the desert. She couldn’t love the first child she’d birthed, seeing the malice in him, but I think she pitied me. We lived together for a time and she taught me how to survive — not just what to eat, but how to hide. 

One day I woke and she was gone. I wasn’t certain if she’d left me, or if something had happened to her. All I knew was that suddenly I was alone. I lived as I had before, but strange things started to happen. I would plant seedlings beside the oasis, and when I woke the morning after they would be tall trees. The dunes around me would change every night — great mountains shifting with the breeze. Slowly I realized that I was not just sleeping for hours, or days, but years, maybe centuries. Looking back on it now, I think that when _he_ was born — the other me that I had been torn from — he stole back the energy that had once been split into two. I only woke when the _other_ died, and was awake only until he was born again.

Of course, I didn’t know that then. I didn’t know anything. I thought I was just a little boy living in the desert. I was content enough. I had nothing to compare my life against. I grew used to my hibernation until one day it stopped. Suddenly my seedlings were just seedlings again.” He reached forward to scoop a handful of sand into his palm. They were both silent as they watched it trickle between his fingers like the ticking of an hourglass. “Eighteen years later I found you in the dunes.”

“And the other, then? Where is he?” Vehvan brushed the last grains of sand from his palms before cupping his hands together. The smell of ozone filled her nose as a thick, purple-black sludge pooled against his fingers.

“This is all that is left,” he told her, sounding nearly sad. “Each time you killed him a part of his wickedness was left behind, lingering in his fallen bones like a corruption. He became a leaking cup; full, at first, but gradually emptying until there was nothing left. Even now, however, his — _my_ — ambition is still a curse. I’ve been killed many times. My bones are everywhere. If a man like the vice chancellor happens to stumble upon them, it’s easy for him to become overwhelmed by their malice. He wanted to kill your father, but he wouldn’t have managed it if he hadn’t found my corpse beneath the palace cells and stolen its power.” He pressed his palms together. The miasma disappeared into his skin.

“It’s dangerous,” he continued. “As long as it exists, Hylia’s villain will live on. And when I die I suppose he will be more properly reborn.”

“Vehvan...” He flinched.

“That isn’t my name,” he managed finally. “When you.. when you first introduced yourself, before, I panicked. I understood what you were telling me, but I had no idea how to respond. I didn’t want you to think that I was a fool. I’d only known one other person before — well enough to know their name, at least — and that had been my mother. She had just been Mother — _Maba_. She called me _vehvan_.”

“Son,” Zelda realized aloud. Her mouth grew dry. She knew the word, so why hadn’t she realized it before?

“It was a stupid idea,” he admitted with a joyless laugh, “but once I’d said it aloud there was no way to take it back. It made no difference to you, so I decided that it was as good a name as any other. After I started to love you, it was... regrettable. No man wants his beloved to call him ‘son’.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, blushing.

“Why? How could you have known? I lied to you,” he realized aloud, his voice dropping again. “For years.”

“Did you lie? Or did you just not tell me?” At last he turned to look into her face again. He was the same, she realized, her chest tightening. Even with that wicked stuff drawn inside him his eyes were still his; his mouth, his nose, his hands, still fidgeting and restless like they’d always been. She thought of the first time she’d realized she’d loved him, back when she’d spotted him in the heights of the library balcony at home, and how he’d been so eager to share the secrets of that mysterious telescope with her even before he knew the proper words to speak his excitement aloud. The darkness of the night did nothing to transform him away from that man, now. She shifted onto her knees and crawled towards him.

“What is it, then? Your name?”

“...Ganon.”

“So it is.”

She leaned forward to rest her brow against his chest. He faltered, his heart drumming against the press of her ear, before slowly looping his arms around her. They were loose at first, but grew tighter as she lingered until she lost the feel of where she ended and he began.

At some point the rain had stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’d like to learn more about the origin story that ~~Vehvan~~ Ganon mentions in this chapter, please check out [The King of Thieves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20748497). I’ll be updating this fic in parallel with Glass Flowers. While they are technically prequel/sequels, they can both be read separately — but the intention is to provide some additional depth and context to what Ganon and Zelda are set to face in the second half of this story! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your comments/kudos/clicks so far, I really appreciate it and hope you continue to enjoy as I obsess over this pairing :)


	16. Sunbird

**PART II**

Six times Link had tried to cross the desert, and six times he’d failed. He’d brought maps with him, before, and compasses borrowed from the palace’s own collection, and even once a foul-tempered fairy who had stranded him in some horrible valley full of hungry wolves. None of them had conquered the strange swirling sands that seemed to breeze through the dunes with a mind of their own. No matter what he tried, he’d inevitably end back where he began, and coughing that fine grit from his lungs as he struggled to understand just how he’d misstepped.

But not this time. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword as he stepped through the mouth of Nabooru Pass. This time he’d wandered through the Lost Woods before he’d journeyed south, nearly as impossible a labyrinth as the desert itself, and spent too many days satisfying the fancies of the strange creatures that lived there. In exchange they’d allowed him an audience with an ageless tree carved with a man’s face that, inexplicably, spoke to him like an old friend.

Afterwards, he’d sunk nearly a year into training in the Lost Woods. It was precious time — too precious, he worried, as he squinted into the hot desert sun — but it had also earned him a reward. He lifted the razor-point of the Master Sword towards the horizon line. Just like that great old tree had promised, a blue glow had begun to gather along its edge. He swung it slowly until the glow grew brighter.

 _There_. If the desert were a timepiece, his destination was at three o’clock. His pulse quickened as he stepped forward into the sand. He’d walked in that direction before, but this time it didn’t matter. This time he’d find her.

 _I’m sorry_. His mind wandered as he trudged on. Five years. It’d been too long. _Be brave. I’m coming for you_. The winds began to rise. He focused on the sword, then, his eyes nearly crossing as he watched the pulse of its blue glow.

 _I’m sorry that I let him take you_. It always happened, didn’t it? He pulled the hood of his cloak lower against the rising clouds of sand. A wave of frustration crashed against his chest. No matter which of the legends he read, they all had that in common; that he would, inevitably, make a mistake which resulted in her being taken away. What sort of horrible cage had Ganondorf built for her this time? Five years, five miserable damned years, and what sort of torture had they been for her?

 _I’m coming_ , he promised her again as the sand swirled so thick he lost track of where the dunes ended and the sky began; _this time, Zelda, I promise_. 

* * *

On the second day the sword began to lie to him. He’d swing it right and it would glow bright and cold, like moonlight; and then he’d swing it towards his other shoulder and it would glimmer to life again. 

“I can’t go both ways,” he ordered it with gritted teeth. The endless sandstorm had left him dizzy and feverish. He’d clung to the Master Sword’s guidance like a lifeline, but what in a thousand hells was he supposed to do now? He clenched his eyes shut and swung the sword again. It glimmered on, the color of a sapphire.

“Fine,” he grunted. One of the ways had to be right, didn’t it? It might as well have been that one. He staggered forward, groping for his canteen as he walked. He’d brought enough water for days, but somehow the sand had crept in between the corks and turned it all to mud. The horrid stuff crunched between his teeth as he drank.

 _Shit_.

“I can do this,” he ordered himself breathlessly. He had to. He’d made a promise that he’d protect her. Of course, the king was long-dead now, and Impa nothing but a memory, but his pledges to them were immortal. They were _important_. Who else was left to remember them, otherwise?

The normalcy that had returned to Hyrule in the past few years had even lulled them into forgetting about _her_. How, he wanted to snap at them, in a place like that, filled with paintings and tapestries full of her golden-haired progenitors, could they forget her? But they had, and had even fallen into favor of calling Jerek _king_ instead of the ‘consort’ he deserved. The man had managed it well enough, of course, having always had a mind more for ledgers than for a sword. And, although they’d waited, cringing, for it, that old war that had threatened them had never come.

At least not in the way they had expected. But it had still stolen their queen from them, and yet how was it that he was the only one hunting for her now? What sort of loyalty was that?

His mind lurched as he made a wrong step. He must have wandered onto a dune. It shifted under his heel and turned into a new, capricious shape as he began to slip. His mouth filled with sand as he gasped with surprise. The pitiful sound echoed in his ears as he felt himself slipping away — not just down and tumbling from the crest of the dune but with his thoughts as well, until he realized that maybe he was dreaming; or, maybe, just dead.

The latter seemed far more likely. He woke later — hours, days, minutes, he wasn’t quite certain which — and found himself sprawled across a soft carpet of grass. The sky above his head was blue — so blue it made him squint — and filled with sunlight instead of sand. His head was ringing, but he could just make out the peal of birdsong between the buzzing sound.

“ _Sa’oten! Masaba, tesh videsh voe il-ya?_ ”

“ _Aah, Nairi! Ne, ne, nada les’sabasha. Ne_!”

Dead. Yes. A strange relief crested over him. That was it. It wasn’t so terrible. At least he was there. It was beautiful, and lush, and quiet. He’d never been quite certain of how much of the old legends to believe, but at least the stories about heaven had been true. And here was an angel come for him — or was it a cherub? Was that the word? It seemed right. She looked rather like a little girl, but had golden hair and golden eyes like some sort of gilded idol. What better herald for the goddess than that?

 _I’m sorry, Zelda_ , he thought again as his eyes fluttered closed again. _Next time. Next time I’ll be born a better man, and I’ll come for you. I promise._

* * *

His skin was hot. The space behind his eyelids was dark, but it felt like he was baking under the sun. It was agonizing; made him restless, and yet he didn’t have the energy to move. He groaned. His voice was hoarse. It didn’t sound like his own. The thought frightened him, but he was soothed by the sudden touch of something cool against his face. 

Fingers, he realized; a hand. They gently stroked the furrowed lines of his brow smooth. Afterwards they skirted across his cheek, tracing the old scar beneath his eye before brushing against his jaw.

Don’t leave, he wanted to beg them as he felt them fall away. He mustered what strength he had left to force his eyes to open. The world outside was dark, but there was a light as well. It streamed around the figure of a woman seated at his side. She had the same gold-spun hair as the cherub had, but she was no child.

 _Hylia_.

She bent forward over him. He felt the press of her lips against his cheek. She was dressed in something cool that draped over him as she moved. The scent of lavender lingered in her wake even after she’d stood.

 _Won’t you tell her that I tried?_

* * *

He woke with a start. The echo of his gasping voice still hung in the air as he lurched forward. An empty room stared back at him. It was dim, but beams of sunlight cut through the gloom from a pair of windows at his side. They were filled with lazy dust motes twinkling in an invisible breeze.

_What?_

His arms shot forward. They looked a little raw, and stung to match, even against the light fabric of his short sleeves. He palmed his chest and felt a panic rise in his throat. He was dressed in a tunic, and without the scaled plate of his armor beneath it.

 _Don’t lose this_ , Aluto had teased him.

“Shit.”

He ripped the sheet from his lap and stumbled from his bed. There was a pitcher of water at the bedside — a simple earthenware vessel, but prettily painted. Not the type of thing that one generally expected for a prisoner. Likewise, the room looked little like a cell. The walls were neatly hewn and covered in a bone-colored wash. The ceiling above was filled with squared rafters that had been carved with intricate geometric shapes. It looked old, but it was clean, and filled with the fresh scent of a line of potted herbs crowding one corner.

As lovely as it was, it wasn’t his. His cloak, his quiver, his boots, even, were all gone. And, worse still — infinitely, so that it made his chest grow tight — his sword as well.

“ _Sav’aaq_?” A tiny voice interrupted his rising panic. He spun on his heel to spot a little girl peeking around the doorway into the room.

“Angel,” he muttered, feeling utterly ridiculous after he had — and yet there she was, her gilt eyes peeking at him as she sidled around the doorframe. She had a melon in her arms, so large it nearly toppled her sideways.

“ _Ah_?” She stared up at him around the pale rind. “ _An-gel_?”

“Er,” he managed.

“ _Tesh gavrash dzherude_?” His dragging mind scrambled as he tried to think of a proper response. “ _Dzherude? Ne?_ Hylian?”

“What?” The familiar word broke through. Her face brightened into a smile.

“You speak Hylian?”

“Yes, I do,” he answered, still bewildered.

“Auntie says I mustn’t talk to you,” the girl told him matter-of-factly. She shoved the melon at him. He took it, although he wasn’t quite certain why. “But you don’t look too scary to me.”

“Are... Do you live here?”

“Yes.” She toddled forward to climb into a nearby chair.

“Where are we?” Her pale brows knotted together with confusion, exaggerated in the way that only children seemed to manage so well.

“Home,” she insisted. “What’s your name?”

“...Link.” Her lips puckered.

“That’s a strange name.” An amused sound slipped free from him before he could bite it back.

“Maybe.” He set the melon on the foot of his bed. “What’s yours?”

“Nairi.”

“Well, that’s a strange name, too.” She giggled.

“It is not!” Nairi crossed her arms across her chest. She was dressed in an intricate weave of draping silks, but wore them as comfortably as any pair of shirt-and-slacks. He still wasn’t quite convinced that she wasn’t some sort of deity, although perhaps more mischievous than he had at first believed. “You slept a long time. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he answered, although he really wasn’t so sure of it himself. “How long is long, Nairi?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Where is your auntie now?”

“Here,” a stern voice answered. An icy jolt slithered down his spine as he looked up to spot a shadow in the doorframe. _Impossible_ , he thought next. Jerek had made certain of it, having spearheaded the burning of their temples himself, and with all of their strange paraphernalia inside — and yet there a Yiga warrior stood, clad in red, and with their face unreadable behind a mask.

“Nairi,” the figure continued — a woman, he realized, although her voice was muffled — as she waved in the little girl’s direction. “I told you not to come up here.”

“I’m sorry,” Nairi sulked as she slipped from her chair. She glanced between him and the Yiga before slinking forward, head bowed. “You never let me do anything, Auntie.” He heard the hint of a sigh behind the plate of the Yiga’s mask.

“Go find your sister. _Now_ , Nairi.” The little girl scuffed her heels as she slipped by the Yiga’s shins into the hallway beyond.

“Hey,” Link barked, but the Yiga had already turned. “Wait!” He dashed forward as the door closed. “Stop!” He drummed his fists against the door as he heard the click of the lockset bolting tight. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, his legs dragging against the simple weave of the rug at his feet as he slid against the door. He was glad that the little girl wasn’t there to hear him.

 _A Yiga_. After so many years. So many of them had renounced the title to return, hidden, as Sheikah again. It had been a generous offer, all things considered. The majority of the court had wanted to see them exiled; and others, he suspected, preferred them dead. They had been clever enough to follow Jerek’s new rules in order to evade such fates.

But to dress like _that_ , and _now_... His teeth ground in his ears. And here, in the desert, and with him a prisoner of it; that could only mean that the masked “auntie” was no bumbling fool, not like the rest of them, but a Yiga as the Yiga had once been.

Soldiers of the devil.

So what did that make him?

* * *

It was dark before he heard footsteps outside of his door again. He leapt from his crouch against the bed to hunt out something to arm himself with. He settled on a chair. It wasn’t much, but he was still strong, lethargic as he was; and better to fight, no matter the weapon, than to submit to them obediently. His arms tensed as the lock pulled back. The door swung open without a sound. Candlelight spilled into the room. He cried out a wordless noise as he dashed the legs of the chair in its direction. 

“Link!” The muscles of his back screamed to a halt just before he’d crashed the chair against her braced arms. The candle toppled from its holder to sputter at her toes. She was dressed in silks, just like the little Nairi had been. All of it was wrong, strange, alien to what she had once been, but her face...

“Zel.” The chair clattered to the ground as he stumbled back in surprise. Her face was _hers_ , and not hollowed with hunger or full of scars but with that steady, sometimes devious grace that had always lived there before. He sunk into a sprawl as he gaped up at her, bewildered.

“Oh, Link,” she replied quickly, crouching towards him. “What are you doing here in the dark?” She reached forward — perhaps to help him to his feet — but he could do little more than cling to her arms.

“Are you alright?” The words spilled from his lips. “Have they hurt you?” She dipped to her knees beside him.

“No,” she answered, her voice slipping into a softened tone. “No, it isn’t like that at all.” His eyes had already darted to the door she’d left open behind her.

“We need to go.” He wasn’t certain just how she’d made her way to him, but he wasn’t about to spoil her luck with hesitation. Sword or otherwise, this was their chance. And maybe it wasn’t exactly what he had hoped for, really, but still _here_ — here she was, and alive!

“Now,” he insisted as he scrambled to his feet and felt her dragging him back down. “Before they find us!”

“That isn’t — sit down, Link. Calm down.”

“Calm — we don’t have the time, Zelda! Come on!” He flinched as she slung her arms around his waist and pulled him back.

“I’m sorry.” He wanted to fight against her maddening hesitation, but his endurance was still being leeched by the desert that had drawn him dry. She, on the other hand, was deft and strong in pressing him against the smooth fabric skimmed across her chest. “I’m so sorry.”

His voice caught in his throat as he pulled back from her embrace and saw that she was crying. 

“What have they done to you?”

“Listen to me, Link. There isn’t a _they_.”

“The Yiga,” he insisted. _You don’t have to lie. I’m here to help you. Don’t you understand?_

“The Yiga,” she echoed. “You mean Janna. From this afternoon? She to—”

“Janna?” His heart thudded slushily in his chest. Janna, and he realized, his ears ringing, that yes, he’d heard that voice before, muffled as it had been behind the strange bowl of her mask. “That was...”

“She was,” Zelda struggled, “ _overcautious_. I’m so sorry, Link. I didn’t know that you had woken up. And then I... I wasn’t so certain, really, of what to...” He slipped from her arms.

“I’m sorry,” she insisted again, her voice wavering. “I’m so sorry that I left you behind.”

“You...” He shook his head. “He’s here, isn’t he? You need to leave. Listen to me. I don’t know what he’s told you, or how — what he’s done to... to trick you. It’s my fault. I didn’t protect you. But I’m here, now, and I need you to listen to me.”

“You’re here,” she agreed. She stood and held out her hand. “Will you let me show you something?”

He was still confounded by whatever it was she meant to say, but he took her hand, hopeful that it meant that she was at least willing to step outside. She smiled as he closed his fingers around hers. _Good_ , he thought, as she turned towards the door; and even if it meant he had to sling her over his shoulders, afterwards, they were still that many paces closer to the world outside.

And to a town, it seemed, foremost. His brow furrowed as he peeked over the balcony of the hallway outside — not so much a hallway, really, but a gallery overlooking an arcade — to spot a wide plaza below them. It was sleepy, cast in nightshade, but peppered with a few enduring shopkeepers still peddling their wares. There was a grand fountain at its center which burbled cheerfully. A young couple had gathered at its bank, their heads bowed together. Somewhere close by a dog was barking, and then quickly hushed.

Zelda led him towards a set of stairs spiraling in the opposite direction. It sent them deep into a cavernous hall filled with elaborate archways and sputtering braziers that cast a golden light against the shimmer of the marble floors. Their footsteps clipped and echoed as they pressed on. He froze as they came upon a pair of women who were both impossibly tall and wielding spears. Zelda nodded at them. They returned the look, but otherwise maintained their statuesque pose as they passed them by.

“Zel,” he whispered below his breath. “Where are we going?”

“Just there,” she answered as she nudged open a towering door. It led them into another monumental room cut into smaller quarters by great swathes of cloth strung from the rafters. The room was filled with the sound of water. It reminded him of the Domain. His scanning eyes caught the shimmer of a pool at its center, studded with bobbing candles that kept the space sleepily aglow.

“Here,” she told him, her voice still quiet. She folded back one of the sweeping curtains with the bow of her arm. He followed after and found them both astride a collection of cloud-like cushions arranged into a broad square. At the center, their limbs tumbled together, were two slumbering girls. He recognized the gold of one of the girl’s hair. The other, smaller, and with her thumb planted between her lips, had a wild tangle of red curls. As different as they were, they both shared the same umber complexion that he had noticed on the spear-women as well.

“They’re perfect, aren’t they?” Zelda asked him the question lovingly, her fingers pressed against her lips as she watched them. “Nairi is the one who found you. She was so worried about you.” He thought again of the girl’s strange offering, and how disappointed she’d looked as the Yiga had shooed her away.

“The other one,” Zelda continued, her eyes still steady on them, “is Katara.” She smiled. “A winter-child. If she’d been the one to find you, I’m afraid you would have had to fight her for the right to be saved, first.”

“Why are we here?” Her smile lingered as she turned to lead him away from the nest-like bed and out towards the pool beyond.

“The people who live here,” she told him as she stepped, “call those girls by many names — names that haven’t been spoken for hundreds of years. _Delenina_ — sweetling. _Ga’elik_ — sand-cat, when they’re being naughty. And they call Nairi _Sav’vure_ , sunbird, because of the color of her hair. They call this place _Sav’vure_ as well. If you were to ask them the year, do you know what they would say? _Sav’vure_. The era of their queen.”

“That little girl is a queen?” Zelda laughed quietly.

“Is that so difficult to believe?” She glanced over her shoulder back at the girls. “Her people are much more civilized than ours. They have no kings, only queens. She’s young, but she’s already so clever. And kind, my gods — five years old, and already kinder and more selfless than I’ve ever been.” She looked to him again.

“I wasn’t stolen, Link. I ran away.” He sucked in a tight breath. “For my own interests and nothing else: nothing proud, nothing brave, not even pitiful. But I stayed here and built this place because of them. My daughters.” He cocked his head to the side, wanting, for some ridiculous reason, to disagree.

“And his,” she continued, her eyebrows arching high against the porcelain of her skin. “Ganon will never hurt me. There is your proof. And _they_ — those people out there — they have been hunted by my family for generations, to the point that they’ve been living full lives in hiding, just so that we could be confident enough to think we’d wiped them out. They may fear us, and for good reason, but we have no need to fear them.” 

He wasn’t quite certain what to say. She turned to seek out something folded against the curve of a nearby settee. He recognized the blue scale of it even before she’d offered it back to him again.

“I should have returned this to you sooner,” she admitted, her eyes downcast as she ran her fingers over the slick fabric. “It’s just... it’s so much like her, isn’t it?” She toyed with the threads of a reinforced spot where Aluto had likely grown bored of the task of piecing the armor together. It certainly wasn’t the finest set to be made by the long line of Zora princesses charged with the task, but that hadn’t mattered at all to him. It was still stronger than any mail set against it, and light enough to wear even in the heat of a place like that; and, far more importantly, it had been made to his measure, just like he’d always dreamed. 

“Link.” She pressed the armor into his arms. A sad, resolute look had settled her features. “I don’t want to haunt you any longer. Go home.”

“Go... home?” A sour anger bubbled low in his stomach. “To what? And tell them... what, that you’re dead? That I failed? And what do you think will happen then?”

“Exactly what has happened since the day that I first left.” She nudged him further out into the yard circling the girls’ bedroom. “When I learned that I was to be a queen, I made a vow to myself that I would accomplish two things: avenge my father, and protect my people. I burned the vice chancellor’s body, Link. I watched it turn to ash. And what has befallen my people since?” His jaw tightened. She shook her head with a curt twitch of her chin.

“I didn’t turn my back on the empire. Not entirely. I’ve seen what’s happened. But I’ve done much more than that. I’ve gone to places that I... that I thought were impossible, seen things — dragons, Link, real, breathing dragons, and kingdoms made from ice, and cities so vast it seemed as though they were without end. We are so _small_ , and yet we call ourselves an empire? Of what, exactly, and why? The Rito rule the Rito, no matter what we call them; and the Zora do the same. My father wore a crown because he was born for it, but why?”

“To protect the people.”

“Protect them? From what?”

“From the King of Thieves!” Her shoulders drooped. He sucked in another sharp breath, undeterred. “Even if you’re right, and he’s become... fond of you, that doesn’t change everything he’s done before. The world would have burned if not for men like your father!”

“That isn’t true,” she told him sadly. “The world doesn’t need another empire. Hyrule doesn’t need one, either. What it needs is for you, and me, and Ganon to disappear. All of us. Not just him. I’m not going back. You shouldn’t, either. Go to Aluto instead. Give her the tenderness I owe her.”

“So you’ll have me lie to her as well?” She winced. “They’ve already mourned you, Zelda. Half of your court has grown too old to remember their own names, let alone yours. The rest is content to serve whatever man or woman who desires a crown as long as they still grow rich from it. They call Aluto a fool for insisting that you’re alive. She, and I, and Jerek — we are the only ones left.”

“Uncle Sidon lived for almost four hundred years,” Zelda replied, her voice still small. “Aluto and I have always known that our sisterhood would be... a sweet but fragile thing.” He shook his head.

“And Jerek? He still calls himself your husband, you know.”

“And the people call him king,” she interrupted, her tone drying.

“He _loves_ you.” It felt strange to leap to the man’s defense, but even Link couldn’t deny that lost look that sometimes crept into the prince consort’s scarlet eyes.

“Jerek is an adept leader,” she replied. “Fair, and empathetic, and clever. I imagine that he wants for nothing more than our people’s approval, and that is as admirable goal as any for a good king. But no man is perfect. He loved me once, maybe, but I am certain that he doesn’t now.”

“You haven’t seen him,” he argued, his voice rising with frustration “you haven’t been there. I don’t know what sort of eyes you have on the palace now, but you haven’t seen it like I have.”

“Maybe not. But he knew that I carried Ganon’s child. Tell me, my dearest friend; when he pointed you in my direction, did he tell you that?”

“What?” His eyes narrowed at her insinuation. “We have all been looking for you, for years, to _help_ you.”

“And that is exactly why I’ve hidden here. I love you, Link, just as I love Aluto. Once, before, you were the most precious things in my life. But now I have something far more dear to me to protect. I’m sorry.” Her voice rounded with a wounded emotion. “I know what you must think of me — what I must look like. A traitor, a...” She shook her head. “But I also know the lengths to which you’ll go to protect me. You are truly a knight without compare — a hero. The problem is that I am not the princess you were promised. I don’t think, really, that I ever was.”

“You,” he realized aloud, his heart sinking, “you were the one who took my sword.” She nodded.

“You’re still weak. You should rest here for a few days. As long as you want. I won’t let them lock you in your room any longer. Anything you wish for, just tell me and I’ll bring it for you. Afterwards I’ll show you the way home.” Her eyes settled on him. They were blue, just like the sky, so crisp and bold in their color that it nearly made him flinch. “But I won’t give the sword back to you. It’s time for this legend to end.”


End file.
